Escaping Solitude
by kebzero
Summary: Shounen AiYaoi. Fed up with office work, Quatre at last comes to terms with what he wants, and seeks out Trowa. However, reality rarely allows for rapid solutions, and there's more concealed under the big top than seen at first glance.
1. Prologue

  
**Escaping Solitude**   
Prologue   
  
_Contents/Warnings:_ Shounen Ai/Yaoi, angst, sap, possibly lime/lemon, mayhap a bit OOC.   
_Pairing:_ 4x3/3x4   
_Disclaimer:_ Legal claims to characters and setting; none. Desired claim to the same; significant. Conclusion; still don't own the rights, but as so many others spend the meantime toying with the characters somewhat unlawfully. ;-) 

AN: Here we go again; another story that has undoubtedly been told many times already - but such trivial details won't stop me from puttin' it up anyway. Your feedback might, of course. As for the OOC bit mentioned above; I recognize my significant inability to do characterization justice, hence the warning - plus, we all view the characters a bit differently anyhow, do we not? :-) 

* * *

Choking. That one word summed up everything for Quatre - the excessive workload his corporation offered him, the stale air of his office, the seas of contracts, memos and documents awaiting his perusal; how it all had gained an invisible stranglehold on him, on his very soul. When the Mariemeia conflict ended, he had returned to the family business with high hopes, and at first the challenge had been a welcome one; a distraction from all other thoughts. Now, with the challenge turning into a way of life he never really wished for, he was facing a choice - letting the chokehold be, and face the eventual consequence of that, or free himself from it. Some of his sisters had been adamant he take more time off, and delegate more of the management of the Winner corporation to them. It was time to accept. It was time to deal with what he had been hiding from for months. With one last ragged breath and of frustration, he swept his arm across the desk, toppling the piles of paper, sending documents everywhere, letting the dark mahogany desk return to a clean slate. With a trembling hand, he activated the intercom built into the desk, and called in the head secretary. He gave orders for the rest of the day, and left. In the evening, he would contact his sisters and ask them to seize control of the family business for the time being, letting him remain in an advisory position - but right now, he had but one place to go; a small gazebo at his mansion, in search of music to soothe his soul, air to breathe and space to think - and remember. 

------- 

In the open gazebo, he let his violin pour out tones of regret of past choices, and chords of anger at his own cowardliness. Occasionally, he'd pause, take a deep breath, and continue, seeking solace in the music, comfort in memories. Had it really been two years since- No, he didn't want to think of it. A small voice in the back of his head kept whispering it was time to act instead. There had been enough of thinking, and nothing had come of it - nothing at all; nothing bad, but definitely nothing good either. He knew what he wanted, what he longed for, but he had never summoned the courage to go beyond his own sheltered mind with those thoughts. Perhaps the voice was right. 

And he knew all his answers were hidden under a great piece of colorful canvas. All he had to do, was go there and ask the questions. The answers might not end up being what he wanted, but at least he would _know_. Uncertainty is the surest path to regret, and he had walked down that road long enough. Quatre finished the tune he had started, took another deep breath to clear his mind and walked back to the mansion to pack. There would be objections to his plans, both here and at his destination. He believed he could convince Rashid to let him go alone, but he would need some kind of cover story to be accepted at the circus - Quatre knew he would falter in asking the questions the minute he set foot on sawdust, and he wanted to spend at least some time with the keeper of answers until he could utter the questions. 

But what would Trowa's response to simply _that_ be? 

------- 

Quatre's family had mostly been surprised at his abrupt decision, but they had seen how he had deteriorated over the last weeks, and knew the breaking point approached. Therefore, a few had prepared for the eventuality and were able to make the transition smoothly. As expected, Rashid had objected to his going alone, but had reluctantly accepted it - after giving an extensive tirade of caution, of course. 

Quatre had tracked down the circus quickly enough. They had just begun a tour of the L3 cluster, and his quick investigations had prompted the cover he needed. With but a small bag, he had made his way this far, alone. Now, standing in front of the big top, he felt his knees were about to buckle, a new little voice crying out to go home, to let things be. Mere moments away from surrendering to the sound of retreat, he was stopped by someone shouting his name, waving and smiling to him - Catherine. She ran over to him. 

"Hi, Quatre. Been a while since you visited us." 

Smile. "Hello, Ms. Bloom. I'm sorry for that, I have been a bit busy, and-" 

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, goes with being a bigwig in the corporate world, I guess - and call me Catherine, okay? We're friends, aren't we?" 

He chuckled, nodded. 

"So, I guess you're here to see Trowa? I mean, we've just finished the performance here, and are about to pack up and leave for the next colony, so-" 

"Actually..." He reached into his vest pocket and fished out a small newspaper clip. "I'm here for one of the job openings." 

That clearly took her by surprise. "You're looking for a job? Hey, did the Winner corporation go bankrupt while I wasn't paying attention, or something?" 

Snicker. "No, nothing like that - if you could take me to the manager, I'd like to explain." 

She nodded, still puzzled, but also very curious as to the explanation. 

------- 

Having stated his errand, Quatre sat back for the verdict. Catherine sat quietly by his side. The manager leaned back in his chair and rubbed his bearded chin. "Are you telling me you want this job as a case study?" 

Quatre nodded. "Yes - I have little experience with the levels of business. Most people start at the bottom and work their way up. I started virtually at the top. While I feel capable of handling affairs, I have never gone through the corporate structure such as some of the board members have, and I haven't gotten a good enough understanding of what lower-level work is like." 

The manager's eyes narrowed. 

Quatre smiled in an attempt to disarm him, quickly waving his hand. "No, no, no - I didn't mean that the circus is a lowly place to work. I'm just saying that I'd wish to learn through working on a different level." 

The manager straightened up again, and planted both elbows on his desk, folded hands supporting chin. "And why _here_? The Winner corporation is certainly big enough to give you work opportunities at entry levels." 

The blond shook his head. "I believe whoever I got for a superior would give me favorable treatment - and that would ruin the experiment. I figured here, I'd be expected to earn my living, no special treatment." 

"Hm - you're right there. You'd be treated as any other member of the group." 

"I know. That is why I'd like employment here - it would have to be part-time, as I'm still expected to act in an advisory position for the Winner corporation while working here." 

"Then you are already forfeiting your chance - if you intend to let that go before your work here, I couldn't possibly-" 

"Whatever duties I have here would take precedence, you have my word. My sisters can handle the corporation, they just don't wish to let me go completely while I'm here." 

The manager nodded. "And just what would you be doing here? We're short of people for rigging work, but I doubt you're built for that kind of job." 

Catherine cut in. "What about the ticket stand, or the food shops? Quatre has a mind for finance, so he should do just fine there." She shrugged, smirking. "If all else fails, I could always do with another brave soul for my knife throwing act." 

Quatre smiled, albeit it was a nervous smile. 

The manager straightened up. "I suppose... Very well. Quatre, I will have to think about this for a while - come back tomorrow, and you'll have my decision." 

With a sizable grin, Quatre got up, extended his hand, receiving the future boss' in a swift shake. The red-coated man raised a finger, shaking it as a warning. 

"If I hire you, and you fail to meet the standards of this circus, I won't hesitate to fire you. Understood?" 

Quatre nodded, excused himself and left the office trailer, Catherine hot on his tail. They hadn't gotten far before she grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. "Quatre, were you serious back there? You want to work here just to get your fingers dirty in 'real' work?" 

Quatre shrugged. "It's always good to find new perspectives, Catherine. I think working here would do me good." Seeing her less-than-convinced vague frown, he sighed, pressing on. "I'm not here 'slumming', if that's what you think. I'm very serious about working here, and I expect to be treated like everyone else employed here. That's not something I could hope for anywhere else - my name is too well known for that, and no matter where I'd go, there would always be someone thinking they could gain a financial advantage by going easy on me. The manager won't do that. He knows who I am, but he won't care about who I am or what I own if I do anything to negatively affect his circus - he'd fire me, or at the very least give due reprimands." 

Her turn to sigh. "Quatre, I still don't get why you'd want to do this." 

Doing his best not to show signs his cover was jeopardized, Quatre avoided her eyes. "I don't really expect you to understand, Catherine. Not yet, anyway." He bit his lip before he could blurt out everything. "Look, I'll be back tomorrow - tell Trowa I said hi." 

"You're not seeing him yourself?" 

He shook his head, weary smile. "Don't have time - I still have to arrange a few more things with my sisters, and-" 

She smiled. "You haven't got the job yet, Quatre." 

He chuckled. "I know, but I have a good feeling about this." 

Short giggle. "Okay. I'll tell Trowa you were here. Oh, one more thing." 

"Yeah?" 

"No matter what happens tomorrow, promise me you'll take the time to talk to him then, okay? He doesn't socialize enough as it is, and you're one of a very few people I know he could keep a conversation with for more than a few minutes." 

Still smiling, Quatre nodded. "I promise. See you tomorrow, Catherine." 

And with that he left, feeling somewhat light-headed, although he had not done what he came for at all. If he got a job here, at least he'd have an excuse to watch, and wait. Some day soon he'd build up the courage to bring all out in the open - but for now, being this close was good enough. 

* * *

-end Prologue- 

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Accomplice

  
**Escaping Solitude**   
#1 - Accomplice

AN: For all relevant information about this fanfic, read the first bit of the prologue. 

* * *

Quatre had checked in at a small hotel for the night, and done his best not to get noticed. Having a face that was merely slightly famous could be troublesome, having one that was far more famous than that tended to make it impossible to walk in public. Fortunately, Quatre had become adept at avoiding the inquisitive-looking people, and above all the far-from-serious reporters or photographers that occasionally tried to track him down and catch him in any situation they could abuse for their gossip columns and glaring, colorful 'shock' front-pages. The woman behind the counter had recognized him, but had smiled and without being prompted for it handed him a 'do not disturb' cardboard sign for the door along with the keys, giving him a quick wink. With a brief 'thank you', Quatre accepted, and found his own way to the room. The eve passed slowly before the small TV set there, despite a few breaks from the cathode ray brainwash including a few calls to his sisters and Rashid, and once deciding to sleep, it hadn't taken long before he was far gone, and albeit a faint smile was on his lips, his slumber was dreamless, without expectations - but no longer a nightmare. 

The early morning was as uneventful as the night. The hotel had very few guests, and but one or two others had found their way down to the breakfast table. Quatre was in no rush. He had been given no exact time for when to return, but did not want to appear _too_ eager. Hence, he brooded over the meager meal for nearly two hours, sifting through a newspaper or two, gazing out the window at the weather-less cityscape of the colony or sneaking a peek at the other guests. In the end, impatience got the better of him, and he left the dining room and returned to his room for a quick shower and change of clothes, before packing what little he had brought in the first place back in the small bag and ever so slowly gaining the determination to return to the circus, checking out from the hotel on the way. 

The big top was but a skeleton now, the vast canvas divided and rolled up, and the rigging about to follow. Most of the animal cages were stacked on transport trucks, and nearly all the residence trailers were ready to roll too. Nearly everyone was busy with the travel preparations, and Quatre was at a loss where to go - until, as the day before, Catherine spotted him. He was too busy watching the plastic, wood and metal framework of the great tent come down to notice her sneaking up on him, and jumped a bit has she placed a hand on his shoulder. She laughed. 

"Hi, Quatre - too busy admiring the laborers to notice me?" 

He gave a brief, passing frown. "I was just watching it all come down - I'm always amazed at what people can do if they work together, and coordinate their efforts." 

Catherine snickered. "Well, I wouldn't call _that_ a coordinated effort - it's more like 'let's not mess up, or we'll get fired' kinda hodgepodge work. The manager is probably on the other side trying to organize it, but some of those workers are stubborn individualists, no matter how much at risk their job is." She paused. "Oh, and don't go too close - either you'll get in the way, or you'll get a language course unlike any you've ever heard. Some of those guys know more swears and dirty jokes than all of L2 put together. 

Minutely sending one eyebrow low and another high, Quatre let it pass. "Catherine, I should probably seek out the manager - he was on the other side of the tent?" 

She nodded. "Yeah, but you don't have to go there. You got the job, Quatre." 

Quatre couldn't help but smile even wider than normal. "I did? Really?" 

Catherine grinned. "You sure did - you begin whenever you're ready. You'll be kinda an all-rounder here, though. I'm sure you'll spend most of the time in the ticket or food booths, or helping out with other things. Doubt the manager will let you help with the rigging work, though. No offense, Quatre, but you don't look like a brutish muscle man." 

Mock offense. "Hey - Looks can be deceitful, Catherine." 

She laughed. "Yeah, sure. Anyway, welcome to the family, Quatre." 

Sunbeam. "Thanks." He hesitated, not sure if- "Where's Trowa?" 

"He's tending to the animals, as always. Fang wasn't too happy when they made his cage ready for transport, so Trowa went to calm him down." 

"Fang?" 

She nodded. "The lion. He can be a bit grumpy, but that's just fine. When he's in the ring, he's supposed to look really dangerous and out-of-control. To the manager and Trowa, he's just an oversized kitten - most of the time. I'm still waiting for Fang to prove either of them wrong. He isn't as complacent as they think." 

Quatre gave her and odd look. 

She smiled. "No, I'm not saying I wish they'd get hurt - I'm just saying they should respect Fang's authority - he's the king of animals, after all. While he's probably content watching all his subjects come visit him at his throne inside the cage, you shouldn't anger a king that still operates after the feudal system, and wouldn't hesitate punishing a serf." 

Slight chuckle, if for nothing else, then at the thought of Trowa in appropriate medieval rags, complete with pitchfork and torch. "Maybe so. I'll go tell Trowa, then." 

"If you mean about you working here, he already knows." 

"He does?" 

"Yeah - he's in the 'high council' of this circus, you know - can't make a decision on something like this without a quick vote. Besides, the manager wanted Trowa's opinion on you - don't worry, he could only think of good things to say." 

"Was he surprised?" 

"Well, it's hard to tell with Trowa - I swear I saw his jaw drop, just barely. Still, for him, that's a lot." 

Immediately worrying, a severe case of cold feet struck Quatre, as well as a sensation of already being exposed. 

"Quatre, look - If you really want to know what he thinks about you working here, you should just ask him." 

He nodded. "I'll do that. Thanks, Catherine." 

"No prob - hey, leave your backpack here and come meet me here afterwards. We have some arrangements to make, like getting you a work schedule, housing and such - I'll be somewhere around here. Have to get my trailer ready for the road." 

Again, Quatre nodded, left the bag next to Catherine's trailer and headed towards the animal cages. 

------- 

He found Trowa within the empty elephant pen. The cover tent had already been removed, as had some of the fences, leaving the bottom plastic canvas, a thick layer of sawdust and... the occasional other left-behind trade mark. Trowa was busy removing the latter; big gray shovel, sturdy work boots and rolled-up short shirt sleeves his main tools for the job. Quatre hesitated, not wanting to interrupt, and ended up standing by the fence until Trowa had filled up another wheelbarrow of unmentionable substances and noticed him. Quatre lit up. 

"Hi, Trowa." 

Trowa gave nary a smile in reply, placing the shovel along the fence so it wouldn't fall over when left alone. "Quatre." 

"Anything I can help you with?" 

Trowa chuckled. "I don't think you're dressed for this, Quatre." He paused, grabbed a hold of the wheelbarrow and pushed it out of the pen towards a low dumpster with a makeshift on-ramp, proceeding to empty the contents of the wheelbarrow into said metal container, not-so resonant splats indicating the dumpster wasn't entirely empty as it was. Remarkably enough, there was little smell to attest for contents, though. 

Quatre estimated the size of the dumpster. "The animals can't possibly produce that much of-" 

Vague grin. "They don't - this dumpster is for all organic waste, including trash and human waste. The residence trailers need to be emptied too. There's one for general junk and one for recyclable material on the other side of the grounds. The local authorities usually give us something like this to clean up after us. Less of a mess for them." He shrugged. "For us too, really." 

"Yeah... Look, I-" 

"I heard you were going to work here?" 

"Yeah - if that's okay with you. I don't want to make you uncomfortable by-" 

Trowa gave another light chuckle. "Don't worry, I don't mind. Catherine told me all about your latest idea. I just hope you find what you're looking for here, Quatre. Not sure this is the place to learn about business." 

Quatre smiled, albeit it was a tad sinister. "I think I'll find just what I seek here, Trowa." 

Shrug. "Whatever you say." Trowa rolled the wheelbarrow back to the pen. "I'm done here for now - the sawdust is the last thing we dump. Covers the smell better. Want to help me feed the animals?" 

Sunbeam. "Sure." 

------- 

Having made a quick stop by a spring to wash off his hands as well as spray his boots clean of the worst mess, Trowa guided Quatre through the cages with a food trolley, giving brief orders now and then on what to feed which animal. Before long, they were by Fang's cage. The lion was resting now, lazily dozing on his side, back against the bars. Without hesitation, Trowa put his hand between the metal rods, scratching a point between Fang's shoulder blades. The beast gave no sign of disliking it, but as Trowa used his free hand to grab a slab of meat off the trolley, the sound was enough to get the lion to its feet. The second the meat was within the cage, Fang snapped it out of Trowa's hands, ripping the offering into proper mouthfuls. Again, the gentle caressing hand returned, this time to scratch the beast behind one ear. 

"I can't believe how you do that, Trowa - I mean, he could bite your hand off if he wanted to." 

Trowa shook his head. "There's no need to worry about that, Quatre. If Fang wanted to do that, he'd tell me so, long before doing it." 

"Tell you?" 

"Yes - unlike humans, animals are true to their feelings. If they feel a certain way, they'll show it, making it _very_ clear. Humans usually feel one way, but act another, never revealing their true intentions. Animals are almost always truthful." 

Quatre felt a slight stab in his chest; the comment struck much too close to home. 

"I'm more at ease with animals than most humans for that reason. Beasts only show their fangs to those they consider an enemy. There's never any doubt. I can never really know what some people are thinking, or feeling. I can't see when a human is about to attack, or feels angry, or afraid, or cornered. Humans don't want to show that kind of weakness - or honesty. Animals do it by nature." 

Quatre was a bit puzzled. "Trowa, you shouldn't give up on humans just because they're too afraid to be honest all the time. It just wouldn't work for humans." 

Weary smile. "Maybe you're right, Quatre. It's still a nice thought, though. Imagine if everyone always spoke the truth, and didn't hold any of it back. It'd be messy in the beginning, but if we all got used to it, I think it'd make a better world. People keep too many secrets, and it hurts no one but themselves." 

Quatre clenched his teeth, though didn't answer. 

Trowa got to his feet, gave his hands a quick rub to remove at least some of the lion scent, and proceeded to the next cage, Quatre and food cart in tow. 

------- 

They finished tending to the animals, barely a word exchanged after they left Fang. Trowa excused himself to return to the empty elephant pen to remove the sawdust and wash the plastic canvas hidden below. 

Which left Quatre heading back towards Catherine's trailer. He found her busy with the jack supports, preparing the trailer for transport. The wheel screens were already removed, and most of the cables and tubes that previously stuck out from below it were disconnected and rolled up. As she finished off the last support, she noticed his presence. She wiped her forehead with the back of one gloved hand, crank in a firm grip in the other, and smiled at him. 

"Hi, Quatre. Everything went well with Trowa?" 

He nodded. "I think so..." Taking a moment of hesitation to gently chew on his lower lip, Quatre opted to forego caution for answers. "Catherine - Trowa seemed even more reclusive than I remember him. Is something wrong?" 

She kneeled down to put the crank along with a few of the tubes and cables inside a side compartment of the trailer, gloves following last. "Well, he's always been reserved, you know that - but I think it's gotten a bit worse over the last year. He's always reluctant to run errands into crowded stores or walk down packed streets. Doesn't like to attend the food stands or ticket office either. Trowa never has a problem when it's his time to enter the ring, though." She shrugged, sighing. "Quatre, he really has to learn to interact with people - get out more, you know? I know it's hard to do something like that when you have a new address every week or so, but he should learn to mingle more with people outside the family here at the circus." 

Quatre looked back towards the animal cages. A forklift was busy loading one of the cages onto a truck. "Do you think it's serious?" 

She closed the side compartment, locking it shut. "I honestly don't know - I don't know why he's retreating from everyone. Could be just a phase, I don't know. Problem with Trowa is that you can't really push him, for if you do, he'll snap. I don't want to make things bad between us if he just wants a bit of privacy." 

"Still... If he can't manage to go outside the circus perimeter, then-" 

Catherine got up again. "Look - I didn't say it was _that_ bad - Trowa just doesn't want to wade through crowds. Makes him uncomfortable, I think. Can't say I'm too fond of crowds myself. Besides, Trowa still does the jobs he's given, you just see him cringe at them, just a little." 

"Oh. Okay." 

Her eyes hardened, slight frown coming upon her. "Quatre, why are you suddenly so concerned about Trowa? I know you have this uncanny empathy thing about you, Trowa has told me about it - but that isn't all there is, is it? I saw the two of you when you were feeding Fang, and I saw your eyes, Quatre." 

"My eyes? What does that-" 

"You had this really hungry look, not that angelic expression you generally wear, like you really wanted something. Frankly, I had a hard time seeing on which side of the bars the predator was - and I also saw who the prey was. You're not here just for job experience, are you? What do you want from Trowa?" 

With a tired smile, Quatre sighed. "Catherine, I... You're right, I'm not here just for the job." 

She folded her arms, leaning back against her trailer, waiting. "Well?" 

Knowing his cover was already blown, there was little to do but run away in retreat or admit what he came here for. Fortunately, the voices from before remained quiet, and his feet felt cemented to the ground. Admission it was. If nothing else, it'd alleviate his conscience a bit from omitting parts of the truth. "I'm here because I wanted to see Trowa - be with Trowa. The company took up all my time, and there was never a free moment for me to really think if that's what I _wanted_ to do - run the company, I mean. I just - I just snapped, I couldn't take it anymore. I realized I wanted something different." 

"Like what?" 

"A more quiet life - a life with people I care about." 

Catherine raised a brow. "And you think _this_ is the place for that?" 

He smirked. "Kinda - At least, I hope so." 

"Just what are you getting at, Quatre?" 

Momentarily gritting his teeth, he determined there was no time like the present. "I love Trowa, Catherine - and I don't mean just as a friend. I really love him." 

Though a slight gasp could be heard, and her jaw dropped just a bit, she didn't respond. After all, this was pretty much what she'd already suspected - wasn't it? Of course, it didn't matter; the word was out. 

"That's what I really came here for - I wanted to tell Trowa how I really felt. I don't know how he'd react to something like that, though - and now I can't help thinking it could push him deeper into this reclusive behavior you say he's developing. I wouldn't do anything to hurt Trowa, you know that." 

Her jaw worked up and down a few times before the gift of speech returned. "Look, Quatre - this is just-" One brow flared. "You _love_ him?" 

He nodded. "If that offends you, I'm-" 

"No - No, it's not that. I just want to know if it's truly love, or just lust. Quatre, you've taken Trowa away from me twice before - first time you were crazed by that infernal machine, and the second time it was for finishing the war. I can't shake the feeling you're just toying with Trowa's life - and now _this_?" 

Staring into the ground, he chuckled, upon which she frowned. "Sorry, it's just - Catherine, I really love him. I'm sure of that." He looked up towards the colony ceiling. "It feels so good to finally admit that..." 

Again, an eyebrow flagged. "You mean you just figured out how _you_ felt, and now you want to-" 

Quatre shook his head. "No. I don't think I want to push this question on Trowa, not if he's having problems. For now, I'm happy being around him, even if he's oblivious to how I really feel. A friend is better than nothing." 

She sighed. "Now, _that_ I agree with. Look, Trowa isn't exactly open when it comes to feelings - I haven't got a clue if he's even... well, 'compatible'. Don't think I've ever seen him socializing with _anyone_, other than colleagues here, or you Gundam pilots. He doesn't have any friends outside those two circles, as far as I know. Quatre, if you tell him how you really feel, I have no idea what might happen - but I'd never allow you to hurt Trowa, and I think that's exactly what you'd do if you told him." 

His turn to sigh. "You're probably right. That's why I don't want to tell him, not yet." Quatre resumed eye contact. "Catherine, I love your brother, and I'd never do anything to hurt him - but if you let me, I'd really like to stay here for a while - as a friend, at least. If Trowa has problems, I'd like to help him." 

A minute passed by in silence. Then two. Catherine pushed away from the trailer wall with one foot, walked over to Quatre and placed one hand on each of his shoulders. "Very well. Promise me you won't tell Trowa until we've worked out if he has problems, and until we get an idea of how he'd react to your little confession." 

Sunbeam returning. "Really? You don't have a problem with-" 

She laughed. "Quatre, I don't have a problem with you loving my brother - I'd have no problem with him loving you back, either - but I honestly don't know if he's even predisposed for that, much less how he feels about you - and until we figure that out, I have no problem with you being his friend. Trowa needs friends, and you're his best friend." Her eyes sparkled, if briefly. "Though you're apparently going for even more." 

Vague sigh within smile. "I can only hope, Catherine." 

She chuckled. "We'll see, Quatre - one more promise, though - if we find out that Trowa's answer is guaranteed to be negative, you won't ask it, _ever_. I don't want _you_ to be hurt, either - and I don't think it's worth losing a friendship over." 

He bit his lower lip again. "Okay - but how will we find that out?" 

She shrugged. "I guess we'll just wait and see. Maybe Trowa will open up a bit more, if you're around." 

This time, it was Quatre who raised a brow. 

Catherine gave a short snicker. "Hey, I only know you're the pilot he talks about the most. I figured you were his best friend from back then, and the few conversations Trowa and I have had, always painted you like some confidante for the other pilots." 

His face opened, and his right hand found its way to his left bicep to scratch a sudden itch there. "Oh. Well, I guess that's true. Maybe I'm more sensitive to uneasiness and discomfort of mind than the others, I don't know." 

The sound of a truck horn broke their conversation. Catherine grabbed Quatre's wrist. "Sounds like the first truck is about to leave. We'd better get you a place to live before we hit the road." 

Quatre nodded, and his free hand reached for his backpack. 

* * *

-end Accomplice-   
-TBC, if requested- 

AN: Remember, the worst review you could possibly leave, is none at all. Next segment should be up by the end of the week. 

  
  
  
  
  



	3. Lifeline

  
**Escaping Solitude**   
#2 - Lifeline

AN: For all relevant information about this fanfic, read the first bit of the prologue.   
Thanks to all who read, doubly so to those who generously offer feedback. A single line might very well be enough to make me set aside some four hours a day to fanfic plotting/writing. Worked for most of this week, anyway. :-) 

* * *

Catherine had gone good on her promise, finding him a vacancy in one of the trailers before the column of circus vehicles headed out of the open spot of the colony toward the space dock, to board a cargo vessel heading for the next colony on their tour. Well, not entirely true - Quatre's new quarters were but half a trailer, one of the clowns occupying the other half. He hadn't really gotten a good look at the small section before the convoy hit the road, and later space. Still, it had felt good to have a future hiding place. 

After securing what little luggage he had with him within his new home, Catherine had dragged Quatre into one of the trucks, one carrying securely fastened, covered animal cages and towing a residence trailer. As it turned out, Trowa was the driver. The short journey to the space port had been a quiet one, and as Catherine sat between them, Quatre did his best not to even look at Trowa, afraid she'd disapprove - or maybe more afraid Trowa would see some predatory glare within his usually innocent eyes, like Catherine had. 

The trip through space had been equally uneventful, save one incident when hovering through a zero gravity zone with an observation window. Most of the passengers had gathered there to admire the view of space, and of the stars, the planets and moons - all of which were normally closed away from easy viewing on the colonies, which rotations made it even trickier to observe the outside. Trowa remarkably enough got his foot caught by a section of railing, sending him a bit out of control, practically landing in Quatre's arms. Trowa had flashed his thin smile, thanked for the good catch and floated away, never seeing how Quatre turned a fair shade of tomato mere seconds later. Catherine had, however - and it was obvious she was snickering behind the hand covering her mouth. 

Other than that incident, the hours of travel passed slowly, and according to his watch, day turned into night. Quatre got a few hours of sleep in one of the chairs of the small passenger lounge of the space freighter, as did most of the other travelers aboard. With all the trailers stowed away in the cargo bay, it was impractical to go back there to sleep. Trowa and a few others went down into the cargo bay every now and then to tend to and calm down the animals, though. By the time Quatre was awakened by Trowa gently shaking his shoulder, his watch showed early morning. For a brief moment, he was happy their destination used the same time zone as their colony of departure - most of the colonies operated on a unified time code. At least he wouldn't have to reset his watch. 

The new colony was about the same size as the previous, and Quatre was told they'd probably stay here for at least a week, if not even two, depending on turnout. Upon asking, Quatre learned that the circus had rather flexible agreements when it came to plot rental for their visits, so their travel schedule could be just as flexible. The new location was an open grass field next to a small park. School was evidently over for the day when they arrived, as a big bunch of toddlers were soon running around the perimeter of the fences some of the laborers immediately put up. The trailers were parked in one corner, most of the animal cages unloaded in another. Pens were set up, and all the elements of the big top laid out. Quatre's eyes were as filled with awe as those of the many children hanging over and on the perimeter metal fences as the masts went up, colorful canvas following. Trowa balanced up some of the support ropes to reach the top and put up the finishing touch there; a streamer. Quatre felt his heart in his throat through it all, worrying Trowa might fall. The incident aboard the transport shuttle had shown even him to be struck with the occasional bad luck - or bad footing. 

Quatre wasn't left idle for long, however. He had returned to his temporary residence and had barely finished unpacking the meager contents of his luggage when three quick knocks sounded on the door. Beyond it was a short fellow, friar's ring of gray hair attesting his age, broad nose, broader smile, a worn gray cap in his left hand and his right extended. 

"Hi there - I'm your new neighbor. Name's Joseph." 

At first a bit struck by the man's particular accent, which his first guess placed as a variation of a Russian one, Quatre got out of his puzzled state and shook the odd little man's hand. "Hello. I'm Quatre." 

The grinning man blinked. "Oh, I know, I know, son. Catherine told me we had an addition to our little family. Gave me orders to teach you the ropes - you were to work in the booths, correct?" 

Quatre nodded. 

Joseph clapped his hands together for a quick rub. "Okay, then - why don't you get your shoes on, and we'll see if you're as bright with business as the papers say." 

So ordered, so done. Quatre followed the odd looking Joseph - much too worn brown tweed jacket making him stick out among the colors of the circus - to a group of trailers placed in front of the main entrance to the big top. Two were placed so they formed a hallway extension. The third blocked the path off at the end, both metal sides folded down so that you could walk up on one side, go through the wagon - which had two ticket booths, one at either end - and down on the other, ready for the circus show. Of course, you'd have to walk past the temptations offered in the shop trailers at either side before you got inside the tent. What really caught the eye in the extended entrance was the big sign above the ticket stalls - proclaiming the proud name of the circus - 'A Circus'. After spending but a few moments _not_ listening to Joseph's 'shop clerk conduct' lecture and pondering the odd name instead, Quatre made a mental note to ask someone about it later. He faded in on Joseph's speech. 

"...and never, ever make small talk in the last half hour before show time. No time for that then, because you have to sell, and sell quickly. Small kids might push their parents into buying popcorn or cotton candy, but they sure don't have the patience to stand in line for long." He chuckled, shooting a quick smirk at Quatre. "If you're stuck in the pre-order ticket booth in the afternoon, _then_ you can chit-chat - as long as there's no line, of course." 

Quatre nodded. 

"In addition to these two stands, there are two vending machines inside the tent too - they offer soft drinks, chocolate bars and such. That stuff is generally cheaper, so that's why we keep it out of sight from here. If anyone asks for something to drink, just tell them there's a machine inside the tent - okay?" 

"Got it." 

"Now, your face is rather famous, son. Aren't you worried that'll be a problem for this kind of work?" 

Quatre smiled, shrugged. "Maybe. I could just say I 'look like him'. If it's really a problem, I could change hair styles, or dye it, use glasses or some other form of disguise." 

Joseph grinned. 

"I really don't think people will notice, though. I'm not _that_ famous." 

Chuckle. "You believe what you want, son. Don't be surprised if one of those gossip reporters comes visiting one day, though. Just imagine the headlines - 'Winner heir disowned? Ran away with the circus.' - stuff like that." 

Sigh. "We'll see. One problem at a time." 

Brief laugh. "Right you are, son. Now, for a quick introduction into the ticket dispensers and food machinery..." 

------- 

Hours later, Quatre found himself struggling with the cotton candy machine, shirt sleeves rolled up and a few sweat droplets forming on his forehead, Joseph doing his best to teach the rookie how to twirl the stick within the machine in order to get the proper level and shape of pinkish-white fluff onto it. Quatre's latest creation resembled more of a spear than a sphere. The older man pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to ward off both a snicker and a headache. Undeterred with yet another failure, Quatre reached for a new stick, and gave it one more try. This time, he ended up with the sweet mass twirling out of control, ending in a lump at the wrong end of the stick - that is, in a small ball around his hand. He could hear Joseph chuckle, then sigh. 

"Looks like you won't be tending this booth often, son - unless all us clowns got sick. You'd make a good substitute artist with this act." 

Quatre frowned a bit, though not insulted. Joseph was right, this wasn't nearly as easy as mastering the popcorn machine. Even he could handle a scoop and a salt shaker - though he _did_ get the proportion of unpopped matter to put into the machine wrong the first time around. He'd spent a good fifteen minutes removing the excess evidence of that initial blunder, but had made good on the second run, getting Joseph's approval. 

He was still studying his sugar-covered hand when a soft knock brought him back to attention. Trowa had appeared before the booth, vague smile on his face. "I see this isn't going all that well?" 

Joseph sighed again, though still showing his yellowing teeth through the slight grin. "No, it isn't - I think your friend isn't cut out for this job, but in time he might master it - or at least get enough of the sugar mass onto the stick to pass for adequate." 

Quatre shot him a quick glare. Sometimes, the truth hurts - if but just a little. His disappointment in self was quickly replaced by surprise however, when Trowa grabbed his wrist, pulled the cotton candy-covered hand over the counter and giving the back of it a quick lick. Quatre found his eyes and mouth open, yet he was unable to speak. 

Trowa released Quatre's wrist and swiftly licked his lips clear of the remainder of the sugar mouthful stuck there, nearly grinning at observing Quatre's expression. "Waste not, want not." 

Joseph shook his head. "I think we can consider this batch a waste, though. Quatre, It's probably best for you to man the ticket stand or the popcorn booth for now. We'll leave this for later. Wash up, I'll clean out the machine." 

At last fully returning to reality, Quatre gave a rapid nod. "Uh - Okay." 

Trowa leaned in over the counter. "Hey, Quatre - if you're done here, want to grab a late lunch? Cathy told me about a place she spotted when she was out distributing fliers earlier." 

Instantly, Quatre beamed. "Yeah, sure." 

------- 

The path Trowa led them through the colony streets avoided the more crowded areas, and hence it didn't take long for the two to stand in front of the small foodshop Catherine had recommended. The place was rather anonymous, black facade and darkened windows with significant plant life on the inside made it rather private-looking from outside. There wasn't even any glaring name plate stating the shop's name, nor arched letters naming it on the glass windows. Momentarily hesitating, Trowa reached for the door, opened it and went in, Quatre close behind. 

The interior was as toned down as the outside, most of the greater room sectioned into small, walled-off stalls. It was hard to tell if there was many customers present because of this, but the gentle buzz of voices attested there were quite a few. The line before the ordering counter counted at least a dozen, though it was hard to verify that assumption, cramped together as the queue was. Trowa tugged gently on the collar of his turtleneck, absentmindedly giving his neck a soft scratch, focusing more on the line. "Uhm, Quatre - why don't you order us something, and I'll find us a place to sit - okay?" 

Quatre had been a bit preoccupied studying the interior, and barely registered what Trowa said. "Huh? - Yeah, sure." 

Trowa nodded and went off, leaving Quatre to join the queue. 

The line moved slowly, very slowly. At least it gave him a chance to study the images, names and numbers of what the shop offered of foodstuffs, mostly baguettes and soft drinks. A minor worry grabbed a hold of him as he realized Trowa hadn't given the slightest hint about what he wanted Quatre to order for him - upon which Quatre began to carefully evaluate each of the available alternatives, trying to guess what Trowa might want. By the time it was his turn to order, he was still at a loss, and ordered two basic ham and cheese baguettes, along with two soft drink plastic cups. Minutes later, he carried the tray with the order in search for Trowa, finding him in one of the most hidden-away booths at the back of the shop. Though faintly smiling upon seeing his friend, he eyed the tray suspiciously. 

"I'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted, but you ran off without telling me your order." 

Trowa reached for one of the plates. "It's not that, Quatre. I was just wondering what this _was_." He carefully opened the elongated, puffed-up sandwich wannabe, giving the contents a quick once-over. 

"Oh - It's a baguette. I just ordered something simple - It has ham, cheese, salad and tomatoes, I think." He grabbed his own plate, taking a decent bite off one end. "Better eat it while it's warm, Trowa." 

Trowa nodded, and began nibbling on his own baguette, every so often sipping from his soft drink. 

Quatre chuckled at Trowa's continuing somber mood. "Didn't Catherine tell you what they served here? Is that's what's bothering you?" 

"Hm? - No, that's not it. The food's good. I was just thinking about something." 

"Oh? Like what?" 

He shrugged, preparing to take another bite. "Nothing important." 

Quatre put his baguette down. "Oh, come on. It has to be of some importance, making you fade out like that." 

Bite, shrug, swallow. "I was thinking about how long since I've done something like this." 

"Eat out?" 

He nodded. "With friends. I mean, Cathy drags me along all the time - not that I have a problem with that. It's just been a while since I've had a friend visiting." 

Slight depression. "Oh..." 

Trowa's barely-a-smile returned. "But since you're going to work with us for a while, I guess we'll be able to do this more often." 

"I - I'm sorry I didn't make time to visit more often - it's just that in the last months, the workload at the company kept increasing, and-" 

"That's okay, Quatre. I'm not upset about it. I do just fine on my own, you know." 

To that, Quatre could but give a faint grin. 

"Anyway, what have you been up to for the past few months - surely you've done something else than just shuffle papers, right?" 

And with that, the two friends began a lengthy discussion on the events of the last five months, each little and great event in their lives retold, things that had happened, people they had met; Quatre's last meeting with the board of directors, all approving of him, Trowa's encounter with an opinionated gamekeeper from an African wildlife habitat, high-society arrangements, near-accidents at the high wire, the first of 30 marriages, Fang's serious strife of fever, oddly formulated contracts and shady business offerings, Catherine's assumed knife 'accident' trimming the tip of Trowa's bang during their last big quarrel... Through it all, Quatre delighted in seeing the faint smile he'd missed so much, and every time it faded away, he did what he could to coax it back. All the while, neither forgot to eat, and the baguettes were both gone, plastic cups nearly empty. Quatre took another sip of his, thoughts going back to a point just five months ago. 

"I'm glad you decided to keep your name, Trowa." 

Trowa shrugged. "Well, you said it sounded fine - and Duo was right. Names aren't all that important. I'm still not sure, though - it isn't easy to call yourself 'Barton' without asking for trouble. People won't forget that name any sooner than 'Peacecraft' or 'Kushrenada'." 

"Have you thought of a new name, then?" 

Another shrug. "Cathy said she'd be delighted if I'd consider myself a 'Bloom'. I'm not sure, though." 

Quatre put his soft drink down, barely containing a burp behind a covering hand. He grinned. "Well, 'Trowa Bloom' sounds fine to me, too." 

"Yeah... But that'd make us even more like family - don't get me wrong, I love Cathy, she'll always be my sister. I'm just not sure I want to make it that... formal." 

Quatre's turn to shrug. "I'm sure whatever you decide in the end will be fine, Trowa. You'll be the same person, no matter what name you choose." 

Spinning his cup, Trowa sent his straw searching for the last few drops amidst the melting crushed ice. "Maybe... Oh, I completely forgot-" He went for his back pocket, fished out his wallet. "How much do I owe you?" 

Quatre waved him off, still beaming. "Oh, that's okay, Trowa. I can afford to treat a friend to lunch, you know." 

"No, I insist - I don't want you to think I asked you to come just to trick you into paying for me." He fished out a few bills, reached for Quatre's hand and put them in his palm. "Here." 

Reluctantly, Quatre folded his fingers around the bills, not wanting to hurt Trowa's pride. Although, he did neglect to mention the sum was still just a bit short, and felt some slight glee in that. 

Trowa put his plastic cup back on the tray. "I'm done. You?" 

Quatre nodded. They gathered up the trash on the tray, emptied it in the garbage bin and put the tray back in place before they left, again seeking out the less crowded streets on the way back to the circus. Along the way, they made a quick stop at a grocery store - after all, Quatre had a fridge to fill in his new cramped residence. 

------- 

The afternoon went by quickly. After stowing away the contents of the shopping bag, Quatre had helped Trowa tend to the animals, before returning to his trailer-half when the artists gathered for a rehearsal. Catherine notified him his first shift in the ticket stand was set for tomorrow morning - the manager wanted to ease him into the job by giving him the less crowded shift, pre-orders were generally far more sporadic than the queues formed as performances were about to commence. 

It took a while to get used to the tiny section of truck he now lived in. At one end there was a small couch and table that could be folded into a bed. The other end had a door leading to a tiny bathroom; a sink, toilet and shower he shared with his neighbor - there was even a sign reminding users of the facilities of this little detail, so that one would remember to lock both doors, leading to their separate residences. Though he could but speculate, Quatre thought the writing of the sign appeared female - suggesting what situation brought the sign into existence in the first place. 

Beside the door out of his new home, there was a cramped closet. Opposite of that was the cooking plate, a few cupboards, a fridge and a kitchen sink with a dish brush trapped behind the faucet. All in all, the small space was put to remarkably good use - although there was little in terms of frills. Quatre finally inspected what he'd actually bought in the grocery store - he hadn't paid too much attention to what went into the bag when they were there, far more intent on observing what Trowa picked for stocking up his own cabinet. All in all, he'd gotten at least a few items he could use. Far more troublesome was the fact there was but one tiny kettle, three glasses, and a few assorted knives, forks and spoons left of kitchen utensils in the cabinet. He couldn't help but chuckle before he sighed, making a mental note for even more items he'd need to purchase tomorrow. 

Quatre briefly considered asking Catherine or Trowa for a handout, but decided to make good with what he had - it wasn't like he hadn't done it a few times during the war, after all. In the end, his combined dinner and supper was a heated can of soup complemented with bits of bread and whatever else he thought would taste reasonably well together with the soup. Sometimes, the very taste of self-accomplishment could cover the true blandness of a meal. 

Upon considering cleaning up, he realized yet another few items he'd have to add to the shopping list. A quick glance at the bathroom door added even more, as the toiletry bag he had kept in his backpack didn't contain an endless supply of soap, shampoo or toothpaste. He stowed away the last remains of his luggage into the closet, though a few choice artifacts went elsewhere - such as few framed pictures and a set of pilot goggles. He came across his cell-phone and grinned at the thought he had neglected it for a whole day, something he hadn't done for very, very long. He sat down on the couch, and flipped the 'on' switch. It didn't even take a full minute before it rang; starting the first of many conversations, both with his sisters, Rashid and the occasional bewildered company official seeking advice. Reassuring the latter was far easier than the two former - Rashid made an offer to come to the circus and act as a guard just in case, which Quatre refused as politely as he could. The artificial lighting outside had dimmed considerably by the time he thought it safe to put the phone away without the concerned people launching a search-and-rescue operation. The table and couch folded into place easily, and after making the little nook into a decent bed, Quatre closed the curtains before the trailer's plastic windows, and fell asleep before he ever knew what hit him. 

------- 

It had been Joseph that woke him up. The old clown had been remarkably silent the night before, barely making a noise as he returned from rehearsals in the big top, but he seemed more than happy to serenade for them both at seven in the morning - or was it opera, or even a tune from a musical that came through the bathroom door? It was as impossible to tell as it was to sleep through, not that it mattered much, as he was to report in the ticket stand by nine, anyway. 

A pair of hastily prepared sandwiches made up his breakfast, along with a glass of water. He waited for seniority to relinquish the rights to the bath, making a quick stop there and later before the closet before heading out, locking the door behind him. 

It wasn't the last he had heard of the elderly man though, as Joseph awaited him by the ticket stand, and proceeded to give him another quick run-through of how the whole thingummyjig worked. Quatre smiled, nodding along through it all, and was barely able to suppress a yawn or three along the way. He considered crossing out 'alarm clock' on his shopping list, but as he didn't know if Joseph got up this early every day, and even more importantly because he wanted a more gentle way of waking up, Quatre left it on. 

Friar Clown left him alone once he'd sold his first three tickets, and from then on the morning became mid-day, bit by bit. Joseph had given him a few newspapers and magazines to pass the quiet periods, and they came to good use. As lunch hour arrived, a short line of busy office rats briefly escaping the exercise wheel took shape, though it dissipated as quickly as it had formed. As the clock approached three, he was replaced by a gentle, plump woman, one of several people Joseph had introduced him to the day before during their first training session. It took Quatre a few seconds to remember her name - Sylphie - and greet her. After all, his mind was deep in the intricacies of one of the many soap/romance stories featured by most of the magazines he'd sifted through during the day. Even so, he wasn't sad over not finishing the story - it was already clear where it was heading; to happiness - which, coincidentally, made him somewhat depressed. 

Quatre was heading back to his little hide-out when Trowa intercepted him, wheeling a cartload of unmentionable material to the new biowaste dumpster. At least he was considerate enough to stop a fair distance away, limiting the odor. "Hi, Quatre - done with your first shift?" 

Quatre nodded, mild depression giving way to his usual smile. 

Trowa responded in kind, if but vaguely toned down. "How did it go?" 

Shrug. "Fine, I guess. Wasn't much traffic. Only got a few odd stares during the lunch break - I assume a few of the clerks recognized my face, or at least thought they did. Nobody asked, though." 

Single snicker. "What would you have said if anyone _had_ asked?" 

"I'd probably lie. I'm not here to attract attention to the circus, and if reporters began swarming here for whatever reason, I wouldn't be able to conduct my little experiment, now would I?" 

"Guess not." 

For several awkward seconds they just stood there, neither sure of what to say to fill the silence, neither in a rush to leave. In the end, Quatre gestured towards his trailer. "I should probably go back - have to pick up my wallet and go shopping before the stores close." 

"Didn't you shop yesterday?" 

Quatre grinned. "Yeah, but I didn't know about the shortage of kitchenware." 

Vague surprise. "You could have asked yesterday, I'm sure I'd have something you could borrow - did you get something to eat last night?" 

Soft laugh. "Don't worry, Trowa. Yeah, I still managed to make myself supper. I'm not helpless, you know." 

Trowa nodded. "I know." 

Another short silence. 

Trowa reached down for the handles, and lifted them up. "Cathy asked if you'd like to join us for dinner - she's cooking her famous mystery soup. Should be ready around five." 

"Mystery soup? What's that?" 

Trowa shrugged. 

Grin. "Should I fear the meal since you haven't been able to identify what's in it?" 

Another shrug. "That's up to you. I've survived, at least." 

Brief laugh. "Then it's probably just fine - tell Catherine I'd be happy to come." 

Trowa began pushing the wheelbarrow. "Okay. See you at five, then." 

Quatre nodded in confirmation, and went on his way back to his trailer-half, giving the mental shopping list another run-through. 

------- 

At five sharp, Quatre tapped the door of Catherine's trailer. She opened the door, blew aside a lock of hair threatening to fall across her face, fastening it with a swift hand gesture first swiping against her large green apron, orange ladle in a firm grip in her free hand. Despite the pot making funny plop sounds over at the heating plate, she smiled, making room for him to come in. "Hi, Quatre. Glad you could make it. Trowa's not here yet, he's always late when he's dealing with Fang. Just get seated by the table, it'll be a while before the soup's done." 

Quatre nodded, removed his shoes before stepping inside, and did as he'd been suggested. Catherine returned to the simmering pot, sending the ladle into it with a few steady stirs. "So, how did your lunch date yesterday work out?" 

Quatre frowned. "It wasn't a date, and you know it." 

She snickered. "Just teasing you, Quatre. Look, I know you wouldn't break a promise - you're not the kind that'd do that." 

He sighed. "I said I wouldn't tell him how I felt until I knew what the answer would be." 

She gave the pot another stir, and looked over her shoulder. "Giving up already? Have to give it time. Trowa's not the kind of guy that displays his thoughts or feelings openly." 

"Yeah... I keep feeling I'm just grasping at a straw of hope that isn't there." 

Two more spins of the ladle, a quick adding of salt. "You don't know that, Quatre - _We_ don't know that. You know, I've tried just about everything to get Trowa to socialize more, go out and meet people his age. The few times I've managed to drag him along, he could barely speak to the ones that approached him. Always ended with him standing alone again - by the looks of it, intentionally. Think he was just trying to tell me to back out of that part of his personal life." She shrugged. "I did, mostly. Hoped it was just a phase, and that he'd grow out of it." 

"...but he hasn't, has he?" 

Ladle dropped within the pot, soft sigh. "No, he hasn't." 

"That place you told him about - that choice was intentional, wasn't it?" 

"Yeah. He could hide from the crowds in such a place, just like he wants to." She turned around, leaned against the counter and folded her arms. "I'm glad you went with him, Quatre. He wouldn't have gone alone." 

Faint smile. "It was my pleasure, Catherine. I just wish there was something else I could do to help him." 

Catherine shrugged. "Can't really help those who don't want to be helped, Quatre. I think the best thing we can do for him, is to be there for him, be his friends. Still, I think he'd go along with a few more lunches with you. I mean, he's got to be tired of going out with me all the time, and it's nice to see him at least have _one_ friend to hang out with." 

Vague smirk. "Even a friend with ulterior motives?" 

Genuine smile. "Maybe - but you wouldn't act on those without good reason, Quatre. I trust you not to blurt something like that out on Trowa." 

"I'm not sure I could tell him even if I _did_ know it would be tolerated - if not welcome." 

"Nonsense. You'd tell him if that was the case, I'm sure of it." 

The pot made ever more powerful and frequent plop sounds. Catherine returned to giving the soup another stir. "Almost done." She opened one of the cupboards, took out three bowls and placed them on the table. Quatre got up to open another cupboard, searching out glasses and a pitcher, filling the latter with water and placing it all with the bowls. Catherine opened a drawer, revealing a variety of utensils, spoons included. Soon after, three of those were also at the table, as well as a insular mat for the pot. Just as Catherine carried the small black cauldron to the table, balancing it carefully with her oven mittens, there was a gentle knock at the door. She smiled, put the pot down, left the mittens on the counter and went to open the door. Sure enough, there was- "Hi, Trowa. You're late again." 

He looked at past her shoulder at the set table, and then at her apron. "No, it looks like I got here just on time." 

She rolled her eyes and stepped aside, removing her apron as her brother removed his shoes. Soon enough, they were all seated, Catherine quickly scooping up sizable portions of soup to all three, and then placed her palms together for the briefest of token graces. "Okay, dig in, boys." She grabbed her spoon, already at work. The other two followed. 

Quatre could feel his face contort slightly at the first mouthful, fought to gain control of it and silently praying Catherine hadn't noticed. Trowa evidently had though, judging from his vague smirk and swift, amused sparkle in the visible eye. Taking another spoonful, Quatre adjusted to the odd taste. He tried identifying at least one item within the mystery blend - potatoes... carrots... celery - tomatoes? No, he couldn't make even one positive identification. Still, once his taste buds got used to the mixed sensations, it wasn't so bad, and it certainly did quiet his hunger. Already after a single bowl, he felt ready to burst. 

Small talk during the meal did indeed live up to its name - Catherine inquired in how Quatre found his first short day of work, Quatre tried to pry out at least a few of the ingredients of what he'd just eaten - though only the first of these conversations brought an answer. Other swift discussions followed, but nearly all the talking done between two, rather than three. Trowa ate in silence, only giving two contributions to the chatter; one a reminder of the impending show, the other a quick run-through of tonight's program. Taking the former into account, they finished off the meal, Trowa excusing himself to prepare the animals for the performances, Quatre offering Catherine to help with the dishes - which was gratefully accepted. 

Quatre followed Catherine over to the big top once they were done, though he politely declined her suggestion he'd stay to watch the show from behind the scenes, or get himself a seat in the sparse, still growing crowds of the stands. Instead, as the clock turned seven and the band began to play, he retired to his trailer section, knowing all too well there'd be enough calls awaiting him there - and now that his temporary address was more or less determined, he wasn't surprised when Rashid informed him a delivery man would stop by within an hour, bringing a few contracts his sisters had insisted he'd review and sign, should he so approve. 

Hours later, after receiving the paper package and reviewing it - as well as pleading with a select few of his sisters to cease shunting the corporate control to him - he searched out another item Rashid had dispatched along with the documents, much to his joy; his violin. 

Quatre took a firm hold of its neck, placed the other end under his chin, loosened his muscles and put the bow to the strings, producing a few faint, lingering tones before sending himself off on a sound of melancholy, not really a learned piece but rather selecting whatever combination of tones he felt best, competing and contrasting the happy tunes still emanating from the nearby circus tent - but at least his music was private. 

Lost in the lack of thoughts brought forth by musical rapture, he never heard the band music stop, long since finding his own way along the scales. Indeed, it was the gentle shaking the trailer made when Joseph returned that made him snap out of it, and stop playing. For a moment, a little vindictive voice in his mind yelled at him to keep playing - and adding a few shrills just to seek vengeance for the morning serenade. Of course, no tiny cartoonish evil demon on a shoulder could win over Quatre as easy as that, heavily influenced by the minute angel-like figure on the other shoulder as he was. Instead, he got ready for bed, suspecting he'd be roused from his sleep either by the neighborhood song bird or the old-fashioned alarm clock he'd found in an antique shop earlier that day - and given how incredibly noisy the latter could be, he wasn't sure which was the preferable method to awaken by. 

------- 

It turned out to be a tie - Friar Clown's shrill voice began but seconds before the old clock chimed off both its top bells, and albeit the latter shut the former up for a few seconds, the combination was more than enough to bring Quatre far away from the place of dreams. 

The day went by in a hurry. Mostly he helped with the animals or cleaned up trash from the stands, occasionally taking a break to watch the rehearsals and training exercises the various performers attempted, be it within the ring or outside. A limited lunch and quickly prepared dinner was all he felt like making himself. He'd tried to invite Trowa out for either meal, but the boy appeared much too busy at either occasion. In the end, Quatre opted not to push his luck - he wanted to help, but as Catherine had said, you couldn't help someone that didn't want to be helped - unless you did it without their knowing, perhaps. 

As the afternoon came by, Quatre reported for duty in the popcorn stand, doing battle with the infernal popping machine, and living up to his name. The cheerfulness of the people passing through, especially the younger children, was infectious. Still, in the opposing booth, busy twirling up fluffy, pink pieces of cotton candy, Trowa appeared completely unaffected, a faint smile the greatest sign of happiness he could form. Quatre spent every free moment he had observing his friend, and he quickly noted patterns. For one, Trowa's hand never touched that of the customer. Never. Instead, he presented the stick to the recipients with as much clearing as he could, pinning the stick between two fingers, right at the base of the pink fluff. In receiving the payment and giving back change, he used the tray above the cash register, never opening up his hand for the money. The barely-a-smile was all he really offered in terms of customer relations, his sentences became incredibly terse - if they at all formed. Nods were all he needed to take an order, leaving the task of stating the cost - which he occasionally left for the cash register to do. All in all, he was effective at his job, but still doing all he could do to avoid contact with strangers - unintentional or not. A few customers tried to engage Trowa in small talk, and each attempt failed miserably, unless you count a string of one- or two-word answers a conversation. 

Even so, Quatre wondered if he was just imagining it all, or putting too much into it. Trowa had always been reclusive, and didn't talk much to total strangers. Using the tray on the cash register might just be a way to make payment more effective, making no doubt where the money was - they could easily get lost if left on the counter, after all. 

As for himself, he did his best to smile and be friendly, not that that bit cost him much effort. A few of the popcorn-hungry eyed him up, and he had an idea of what they were thinking - but only two of the many buyers asked. He avoided answering truthfully though, leading them to think he just looked like the famed Winner heir, especially by giving them the reasoning 'if I were that rich, would I be working here?' - which they happily bought. They were after all far more concerned with the show than any novelty in the junkfood stands. 

The rush hour between six and seven at last faded five minutes into the show, the last stragglers hurrying past the stands. The ticket stand closed ten minutes later, and Sylphie replaced Trowa in the cotton candy booth. She smiled, nodding with her whole body as she said hi to them both, and bye to one. The cheerful lady soon started a 'get to know you' conversation with Quatre, overloading the poor boy with all kinds of questions, not waiting for questions in return before giving replies to the same. In the very slow period leading up to the interlude in the show, Quatre got to know a little more about Sylphie, her family and just about every member of the circus troupe than he ever wanted to. One of the tidbits he'd caught onto was that Joseph's real name was 'Iosuf', apparently simplified in both writing and intonation to make interaction both with fellow artists and transit authorities demanding passports easier, though Sylphie knew quite a few rumors suggesting there had been far more spectacular reasons behind the change, including him being some kind of secret agent, or hiding from a vindictive family, or mourning a lost love so badly he gave up his old identity and ran off with the circus - and a few more that were just as unbelievable. 

During the pause, they got far too many customers to have time to chit-chat - something Quatre thought was just as good; sometimes ignorance is indeed bliss, and he'd rather not develop a sense of paranoia about each and every co-worker at the circus. The customers had only a few repeats; the ones that had arrived with more than three children were the most prone to return, the rest was made up of those that didn't take the time to shop snacks before the show, or didn't have the craving for the same earlier. Sylphie had hinted that the manager had some kind of secret scent or charm hidden under the bleachers that made people _desperate_ for the junkfood - of course, she had nothing to back that wonderful theory up any more than all her others. Still, she didn't badmouth anyone, not directly - and she _did_ pick up a few truths, such that Trowa 'probably was a Gundam pilot'. Judging from what Trowa had told him, that little tidbit should have been obvious to all those that worked at the circus when he'd used Heavyarms during a performance, tearing up the big top with gunfire before assaulting the Oz troops in the audience and on the nearby base. 

How Trowa had retained his anonymity after that, was a mystery even to Quatre. Maybe Catherine used her daggers to enforce a silence, or perhaps the manager threatened to withhold wages. The long shot was that Trowa had endeared himself enough among the employees to earn their silence - though a more likely twist of the latter would be they had taken pity on him. Regardless, Trowa's name was in the minds of most people - circus staff included - still more tied to the Barton Foundation than it was to the Gundams, for better or worse. Indeed, all the pilots had been able to go on living without that label - even Duo had escaped into obscurity as far as the public eye was concerned, despite having had his easily recognizable face and hair periodically plastered on TV screens and 'wanted' posters. Of course, that still left Quatre. As the new head of the influential and wealthy Winner family, his face carried significant recognition value - at least in some circles. 

The interlude ended, customers done stacking up on popcorn, cotton candy and whatever those little treat and beverage dispensers within the tent sold returning to their seats for the final half - and without a doubt, the more spectacular one; after all, it was in this half most of Trowa's time in the ring would be spent. 

Quatre and Sylphie cleaned and closed their respective booths, and Quatre made a hasty escape, not wanting to hear any more 'juicy details' - of which Sylphie seemed to have an endless supply. Some had been entertaining, but barely a handful sounded credible enough to make him dare ask Trowa or Catherine for verification. 

As they say, speak of someone or something - be it the sun or the devil himself - and he, she or it appears. Not before had Quatre considered the idea of investigating Sylphie's claims did he run into Catherine, apparently heading back to her trailer to change out of a rather skimpy costume. 

"Hi, Quatre - how did it go tonight?" 

"Fine, I guess. Sylphie took the cash back to the safe in the manager's office, she said he likes to do the accounting himself." 

Catherine shrugged. "Yeah, he does. His little Scrooge-complex, I guess." 

She began to walk away before Quatre was able to think out how to phrase his observations. "Uhm, Catherine - I watched when Trowa was in the cotton candy stand today, and-" 

She halted at her name, crossed her arms. "And he acted 'weird', is that what you're about to say?" 

Quatre's eyes fell to the ground a bit beside and behind her. "I - I didn't say that, it's just that - well, it looked like he did his utmost to avoid interacting with the customers. I know he's a bit shy of strangers, but..." 

She flashed a smile, briefly rubbed her upper arms for warmth and sighed. "Yeah, I know, Quatre - this is what I meant the other day. Trowa has grown antisocial, and I think it's getting worse. I've tried working out why, but every time I try to talk to him about it, I feel I end up pushing him even further away. You haven't figured out an answer, have you?" 

Quatre shook his head. "It could just be his way of dealing with things." 

"Maybe - but it isn't healthy, Quatre. We have to make him open up to people, somehow." 

"Catherine - if we pushed him into something like that, he might-" 

She threw her arms up. "I _know_, Quatre. I know..." She pinned the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, swiping her eyes to remove the few tears appearing. 

Quatre walked over to her, placed his hand on her shoulder in a vague attempt at comfort. "I'm sure we'll think of something. Maybe-" 

"Figured you'd try to recruit him, sis. Didn't think you'd be this quick about it, though." 

They both looked in the direction of the new voice. Trowa was leaning against a trailer, arms folded, still dressed in full clown suit - sans the half-mask. As the other two appeared to temporarily have lost all abilities to speak, Trowa used the foot resting on the trailer side to kick away with, and walked over to them. 

"T - Trowa - how long have you stood there?" 

He shrugged. "Long enough, Quatre." 

Again, Quatre's eyes sought out grass. 

"Catherine, I know you're concerned about me - but you have to let me live my own life." 

Her moist eyes hardened, arms akimbo. "But it's not _healthy_, Trowa - you can't just avoid people!" 

Trowa barely blinked, face as expressionless as his tone of voice. "I'm not doing that, Cathy. I just don't like crowds or strangers, that's all." 

"That's bad enough!" 

No answer but silence. 

Quatre looked up from the local flora. "Trowa, we just want to help-" 

"You want me to change who I am, Quatre. That's not fair. You two are probably the closest I've got to a real family, but that still doesn't give you the right to dictate how I should live. Influence, maybe, but not control me." 

"Trowa, you have trouble even going into a crowded store, much less shake a stranger's hand! You have a problem, Trowa - why can't you see that?" 

Again, Trowa didn't answer, albeit he pumped his fists a few times, unobscured eye bordering on a glare. He turned to walk away. 

Quatre was about to rush after Trowa, and continue his attack when a fourth voice intervened. 

"Mister Winner!" Quatre spun around only to be faced with the flash of a camera, temporarily blinding him and making him rub his eyes. "Ah, so it _is_ you! Damien Swift, _Colonies Today_. Mr. Winner, care to comment why the heir to the Winner fortune and corporate whiz-kid leading the Winner corporation now earns a living as a cashier at a circus?" 

As the dancing spots of light vanished from his vision, Quatre could see enough to confirm what he already knew; a paparazzo reporter using one of the oldest - and dirtiest - tricks in the book to make a positive identification. Normally, he wouldn't mind such reporters at all, but this one had decided to interrupt at a most inconvenient moment. He looked around, but Trowa was gone. He could see Catherine run towards Trowa's trailer, probably to catch up with her brother. Quatre wanted to follow, but first... "Please leave me alone." 

The short reporter rubbed his neatly trimmed moustache with his free hand, the other using a small tape recorder almost as a sword, hovering it merely an inch away from Quatre's face. "Now, surely you can give me a better comment than that. Come on, why are you here? You can tell a mere messenger from _Colonies Today_, can't you? Did the Winner corporation decide to fire their young, inexperienced executive? Is the company on the brink of bankruptcy? Any comment?" 

Quatre's brows nearly met in the v-shape they began to form, and his hands became closed fists. "How did you find me?" 

"Anonymous tip. The magazine thought it was bull, but I decided to check it out anyway." 

Both the invisible creatures on his shoulders, angel and demon alike, spoke to Quatre in the same voice now, and his own became a low grumble. "You shouldn't have..." 

The short, slick man grinned. "Oh, I don't mind - not every day I get an angle as good as this." 

Quatre's eyes flashed. "No, you really shouldn't have." 

And with that, his fists opened, hands flying out towards the paparazzo, one grabbing the camera dangling on a leather strap around the man's neck - until Quatre's swift move ripped it off, that is - and the other snatching the reporter's wrist, squeezing hard enough to make the man loosen his grasp on the tape recorder, making that device follow the first in being slammed towards a sizable rock popping out of the grass, small bits of plastic, metal and mechanisms flying everywhere. 

The paparazzo just stood there gaping. "I - You - Assault! I'll sue you for personal assault!" 

Quatre reached inside his vest to pull out his wallet, took out a few sizable bills and threw them at the man. "Here. That should cover the damages to your equipment." 

"You won't get away with this, you dirty little rich brat - I'll-" 

"You said you worked for _Colonies Today_?" 

"I - Yes." 

Quatre turned away, and began walking as he spoke. "This was a dead end, understand? If not, tomorrow there will be no _Colonies Today_ - and you most definitely won't ever be hired again, anywhere." 

"That's blackmail! I'll-" 

Quatre spun around, glare alone silencing the reporter. "You will do nothing. Behave, and I'll make sure you get an exclusive interview at a later occasion - but not now. Do you _understand_, Mr. Swift?" 

Jaw still drooping, the reporter gave a few uncertain nods. 

Quatre resumed his walk. "I'll have someone call you tomorrow. Now, please leave." 

He didn't look back to see if his near-order was obeyed. He didn't have to. An exclusive was far more than any low-level paparazzo sent to investigate rumors could hope for. At least the man had a shred of intelligence, despite his poor career choice. 

With every step he picked up the pace, and by the time he approached Trowa's trailer, he was nearly running. Catherine sat on the steps by the entrance, crying. Quatre's footsteps alerted her. "Quatre..." 

"I've lost the reporter - how is he?" 

She wiped away her tears. "He ran inside, and locked the door. He always locks that door when he's alone inside, but now he refused to open when I knocked. He hasn't done that before. He has to be really angry this time." 

Quatre could feel his face fall. "I'm sorry, Catherine. I shouldn't have spoken so harshly to him - I-" 

She stood up, and hugged him. "No. No, that's okay, Quatre. I think that's just what he needed - a shock." 

Quatre could feel her shiver. "You should go change. I'll try to coax him out, okay? In any case, I'll be here until you return." 

She nodded. "Thanks, Quatre - I'll be right back." 

Catherine ran off, leaving Quatre by the closed door. He climbed the few steps and knocked the surface twice, not getting any answer, be it word or action. "Trowa? Trowa, please open up - we need to talk." He knocked again, no response. With a sigh he sat down on the stairs, elbows on knees, chin in hands. He let his fingers close over his eyes, giving them gentle rubs. Restless, he got up again, and knocked on the door yet again, bordering on pounding. "Trowa! Open up, okay?!" 

But nothing. He looked down at the door handle, reached for it - and lo and behold, the door had been unlocked all along, and opened without a sound in objection. Evidently, Catherine had been so used to the door being locked this possibility hadn't even occurred to her. 

The interior of the trailer was dim, none of the lights were on. Tentatively, Quatre took a step inside. "Trowa?" 

In the darkness, he sensed a vague motion in the far corner. He took off his shoes, placing them next to a set of oversized clown shoes discarded in a hurry next to a small wooden footstool. Quatre approached the movement slowly, not wanting to alarm someone he knew could kill with a sudden move - usually triggered by the same. 

Trowa sat in the right side couch of the little sofa group at the end of the trailer, leaning in over the table, eyes focused on his opening and closing hand. There was something in it, but in the poor light, Quatre couldn't make it out. With barely a sound and in definite slow motion he sat down on the opposite end of the table, waiting for Trowa to give the slightest of sign he'd registered his presence. Minutes passed, the hand still folding around the object within, and loosening the grip again. The shape followed the fingers, as if it were a sponge or other soft artifact. At last, Trowa's fist closed around it tightly, and he withdrew his arms, raising his gaze to stare blankly at his friend. 

Quatre brought forth his most disarming smile. "Hi." 

Trowa nodded, free hand reaching for the closest light switch, little red-shaded lamp at the end wall coming to life. 

Quatre blinked a few times to adjust, and looked at Trowa's closed fist. "What have you got there?" 

Following Quatre's eyes, Trowa looked down on his hand, bringing it back out on the table, slowly unfolding his fingers, revealing the content - a small, soft ball, split in eight sections by thin black lines, sporting the seven colors of the rainbow, plus white. Trowa gave it a vague squeeze, bringing it from palm to fingertips, offering it to Quatre. 

Quatre reached for it, let his fingers gently move along the fabric surface, took it out of Trowa's hand, though taking care not to touch said hand, and held it up against the red lamp. The fabric was riddled with creases, attesting to frequent use. He closed his fingers around it, felt the warm fabric and soft stuffing give in. 

"It's a memory." 

Quatre refocused on Trowa, handing the squishy toy back. "A good memory?" 

Trowa shrugged. "Not sure. I've had it for as long as I can remember. Don't know if it's something I have from my original family, or if one of the mercenaries gave it to me. Can't remember anything before the mercenary group." 

Quatre smiled. "I'm sure it's a good memory, then." 

A sigh. "Maybe... I think there's a rattle deep inside it - I remember the sound of a rattle, but I can't recall ever hearing a sound like that from this thing." 

"We only hear what we want to, don't we?" 

Faint smile. "Yeah..." 

Silence. 

"Trowa, I didn't mean to-" 

"No - No, that's okay, Quatre. Cathy and you are probably right, I - I just don't want to admit it. I've grown used to living alone, even when in a group. I guess that's why I don't like crowds, or strangers. What is unfamiliar or uncontrollable is a threat." 

Quatre folded his hands on the table. "You can't turn into a hermit, Trowa - that's no way to live." 

Trowa copied him, placing his own prayers enclosing the ball but an inch away from Quatre's. "I know." 

Again, quiet fell upon the two. 

"Well?" 

"Well what?" 

"What are we going to do now, Trowa? Catherine and I want to help you - all you have to do is ask for it - you know that, right?" 

He nodded. 

Quatre leaned back, patiently waiting for a reply. 

"Look, just let me think on this for a while... I know you guys mean well, but I know how either one of you can be when you decide to do something - I'm not sure I could take being the focus of that from the both of you." 

Quatre's turn to nod. "Okay, Trowa. Just don't withdraw from us, okay? We're your friends, and we care about you. We don't want-" 

Trowa waved him to stop with one hand, putting the ball away behind a couch cushion with the other, ending with a sigh. "I know that, Quatre. Thanks." 

Two soft knocks could be heard at the door. 

"The door is open, sis!" 

Within a heartbeat, Catherine was inside, the door again closed, and a certain boy in a clown outfit embraced in a tight hug. "Trowa, don't _do_ that to me - not ever again! I thought you'd - you'd-" 

He chuckled, wrapping one arm around her. "I gave you my word long ago I'd never even think of that again, Cathy. I was in a bad mood, I wasn't planning suicide." 

She loosened her grip, just enough to let her brother breathe. "Not in a bad mood anymore?" 

The vague smile returned, and he shook his head. "No. Quatre helped." 

She turned to Quatre and silently mouthed a 'thank you', before giving Trowa a last solid hug, letting go and sitting up straight. 

Trowa looked at her, then at Quatre, then at the table corner on the far side. "I know you're both worried about me. I'm grateful for that, I really am. I just - I just have to deal with this in my own pace, okay? I admit I have a problem, that's more than I did this morning." 

Catherine nodded, placed her hand on his shoulder. "We understand, Trowa. We'll try not to push you, but you have to make an effort - we'll help you any way you can, all you have to do is ask." 

Another chuckle. "Yeah, I know. Quatre said just the same thing a few minutes ago." 

For the third time, the trailer was engulfed in the lack of all noise. 

What broke the silence, was the gentle growling of Trowa's stomach. Catherine laughed. Quatre chuckled. Trowa at first gave a scant expression of indignation, but broke into a soft smirk soon enough. 

Catherine got up. "I'll make us some supper. You did go to the supermarket today, didn't you, Trowa?" 

Sigh. "Yes, sis, I remembered. You only reminded me four times." 

She grinned, and searched through the cupboards and the fridge for things to raid and make a decent meal out of. The three ate without barely speaking a word; there had been enough talk for one day, and nightfall would soon bring a new day, perhaps a better one. 

* * *

-end Lifeline-   
-TBC, if requested- 

AN: Now, I might have to devote some time to _Zodiac: Full Circle_ again, next chapter there is badly overdue. Still, any feedback offered inspires to writing, and if you want the next chapter on this story out quicker, there's one very simple way to influence that. Oh, and you're allowed to say the story stinks. Honest opinions are better than fake praise. :-) 

  
  
  
  
  



	4. Ordeals

  
**Escaping Solitude**   
#3 - Ordeals

AN: For all relevant information about this fanfic, read the first bit of the prologue.   
Yes, I know this story is horribly cliché, but I ain't forcing you to read. ;-)   
Miya, O'phelia, evil-kat and Ryuei Jaganshi, thank you ever so much for the feedback - every word helps. Oh, and Ryuei - don't worry 'bout the form or length of your review - you _gave_ one, which is more than the ~70+ silent readers of chapter three did - not that I don't appreciate those precious quiet people too. :-) 

* * *

The days began to form a strange fluid monotony after that evening. Quatre made a few calls to ensure the silence of the reporter, and suggested to his sisters they invent a cover for him not being at the company, in case others started asking. They agreed on simply saying he was on a vacation - and just to neglect mentioning the length of the same. Quatre also opted for a clever disguise; a pair of black-framed sunglasses. Catherine had laughed the first time she saw it, Trowa not stretching beyond a most peculiar grin. They got over it though, and came with a few suggestions of their own to amend his disguise. Some were openly meant as a joke - at least, Quatre _hoped_ Catherine had joked when she suggested he use one of the clown outfits and pretend to be part of the show even when just selling popcorn or tickets. It wasn't a bad idea given his objective, but he didn't feel like parading around in baggy pants with suspenders and tripping over his own huge loafers. Still, he'd taken their advice to forego his rather formal shirt and vest in favor of something more casual. When Trowa offered to lend him a few turtlenecks he'd grown out of, Quatre quickly agreed, rushed to accepting by that little imp on one shoulder, the opposing angel immediately scolding him for being so eager. Trowa didn't seem to notice, though - and so the following eve in the popcorn stand Quatre was wearing sunglasses just dark enough to hide his eyes but not obscure vision, one dark green turtleneck sweater with both neck and arms folded to size and a pair of dark blue jeans Catherine had found in a pile of old clothes - normally meant to get a second life as costumes or rags - and quickly tailored to fit Quatre. Well, almost. They were a bit tight, and he swore he saw Catherine grin when he first tried them on, and he suspected the handiwork was intentional - which was also why he didn't ask her to adjust them further. After all, she'd taken rather... _precise_... measurements of him before the tailoring, and it wasn't a procedure he was too eager to repeat. He felt ridiculous, but none of the customers seemed to care. Plump Sylphie grinned over in the other booth, though. Quatre suspected he'd just made himself a rumor or three in her collection, though he tried hard _not_ to think of what their nature might be. 

That same night, he fell asleep hugging the turtleneck close. 

The rest of the week passed without anything notable happening. They had promised to let Trowa take the next step to solve his own problem, and they had done their best to live up to that promise. Even so, Quatre had to reassure Catherine to give Trowa time more than once during the week. At day six, the manager announced they were moving on to the next colony, and the entire circus was wrapped in the frenzy that was moving day, leaving any coaxing out of the question for a while. 

Their new destination had only a gravel ground for them to camp at - not that it mattered much; as long as the poles got a decent footing, the big top could go up. In emergencies it could rise even on pavement, Joseph let him know as they rigged up the seats. They still wanted to avoid that though, as the supports and weights needed complicated the rigging immensely compared to simply slamming the tent poles and pegs into the ground. 

Another three days passed, and a daily routine of the following set in; waking up to the dual cacophony of Joseph's attempts at singing and the alarm clock's attempt at suicide - Quatre had taken to slamming it pretty hard when shutting it off - working the booths at morning or eve, helping with various odd-jobs when he wasn't in any of the stands, returning to his trailer for the occasional lonely meal - Catherine had taken it upon her to invite both boys over for dinner or out to lunch at least every other day - ending the day with phone conferences with his sisters, reassuring both them and Rashid he was safe and planning to return soon, and falling asleep, arms wrapped around a single-colored sweater, and waking up in the morning - occasionally with his nose close enough to catch the scents within the turtleneck fabric - to do the same all over again. 

At the fourth day, Trowa intercepted his sister and friend immediately following the performance, herding them to his trailer. All the curtains were drawn, and the clown took great care in locking the door behind them before putting the mask away. He motioned them to the far end, bathed in the dim light of the red-shaded lamp. Trowa took the far right corner seat, Catherine sitting down next to him, leaving Quatre the other couch. The table had been folded up against the wall so that the center space remained open. For a moment, Quatre wondered if Trowa had intentionally set this up in order to be able to get up and run away easily, should he feel a need to. That suspicion faded in a flash as he caught Trowa's tired eyes. That same empty stare fell on Catherine soon after, and minutes went by without any of them saying a word, hardly moving, barely breathing. 

"I..." Trowa started, glaring down at the floor. "I wanted to tell you something. I've never talked about it with anyone, and I'm not exactly sure I should tell you now, either. I've been thinking about it ever since last week. You sent me searching for reasons I am who I am - I've always been shy and have kept my distance from others, but there was at least one event that pushed me further along that line..." 

He stopped, leaving the other two waiting. Neither Quatre nor Catherine spoke; all they could do was wait for Trowa to say whatever he wanted to say - and do so without any pressure. Trowa's fingers grew restless, at last finding some temporary pause as he locked one palm around the fingers of the other hand. He looked up from the floor for a second, as if checking they were still listening. 

"As you know, I was raised by a mercenary group. From what they told me, I was found in the middle of nowhere, and they decided to take care of me. I still don't know why, but from bits and pieces I got from the various soldiers over the years, they stumbled across me in the middle of fighting back Alliance forces - a battle which they won, against all odds, and that some of them considered me a good-luck charm because of that." He closed his eyes, smirked, gave a vague snort. "They were a superstitious bunch, all of them. You'd never want to be around those with compulsive thoughts over their underwear or socks." 

His audience barely dared to smile, remaining careful, patient. 

"Anyway... They raised me as best they could, I guess - my earliest memories are from battlefields. They taught me how to control a mobile suit when I was five - not that I was given the chance to actually control one alone until some years later - I had to grow enough to reach everything." Another short-lived smirk. "Most of them were friendly, but I didn't really consider them friends - I respected the captain, though. The ones that weren't friendly weren't all that dangerous, I just learned to avoid them. It was the overly friendly one that turned out to be the one I should have watched out for." 

Again, he paused, and his free fingers tapped out of rhythm on the backside of the grasped hand, slowly settling down again. 

"At first, it wasn't anything serious. The guy - I think his name was Mitchell - was just like most of them, treating me like their special prodigy, teaching me how to operate trucks, mobile suits, all kinds of weapons... Somewhere in there, they remembered to teach me how to read, write and do math too. I don't remember, but I think Mitchell and the captain were the biggest proponents for setting up that curriculum. Since I don't know my real birth date, I'm not sure, but I think I was around nine when things began to change. Mitchell started giving me these little gifts - at first, I didn't think anything of it. Some of the guys usually bought me something or other when they went to town, but most of them stopped by the time I was seven - that's when I first controlled a mobile suit alone. Guess they thought less of me as their adoptive son and more as their equal - or they just decided not to spoil me anymore." Trowa shrugged. "Doesn't really matter. Mitchell's gifts became frequent. They were just little things, a piece of candy, a small toy, a customized part for my mobile suit - that sort of thing. I accepted them all with my usual enthusiasm - an expressionless face and a nod." Vague smirk. "That wasn't what Mitchell was really hoping for." 

Trowa let his trapped hand loose, feeling restless. He straightened up a little, and placed one hand on each knee, fingers occasionally trembling. 

"After a few months, he went from patting my shoulder when giving me the presents to patting my cheek. The shoulder thing was sort of an unwritten agreement I made with the mercenaries at age six. I was determined not to have any of them fuzz my hair up by a patronizing pat there, so I more or less demanded they'd settle for the shoulder. It didn't seem much at first, so I didn't comment it. I thought Mitchell was an okay guy, after all. He got bolder, didn't pat my cheek as much as caress it, and he began lingering there, not just vanishing after handing the trinket over. Since I didn't care much for his gifts anyway, I reminded him about the shoulder agreement. He removed his hand as if he'd been burned, nodded and went away. For the next two weeks, I barely even saw the guy. Then, the captain informed me of a change in the duty roster. He'd given me more responsibilities, including night-time guard duty. I didn't find out until..." Trowa paused, took a clearing breath. "Well, later, that Mitchell had argued for that rather adamantly, saying I was old enough to be counted as any of the soldiers. According to him, I definitely had the abilities, despite my young age and small size." 

His hands became restless again. Catherine reached out, grabbed a hold of the left one, placing it back on his knee, thumb moving in slow circles on the back of the hand and out along the fingers. Trowa looked at her, faint smile there for but a flash. His eyes returned to the floor. 

"It happened on my third shift as night guard. Mitchell was to relieve me at three in the morning. He showed up a few minutes past that, which was unusual. The guy had always been punctual. That's not the only thing I found odd, though - he had a vague sway in his step. At first I thought he'd been drinking - I don't know if he really was drunk, or if he just acted. Most of the mercenaries had a stomach for alcohol, so it took them quite a lot to get seriously affected, and Mitchell wasn't known for having a stockpile of booze, or the cash to buy it with. I was considering if I should report him to the captain or not when he asked for my gun - that was the procedure; when the new guard showed, you'd pass the sidearm along. I hesitated, but gave it to him anyway - he was still my superior officer, and I had no real proof he was unfit for duty. He inspected the gun, and I stood back, waiting to be dismissed. Instead, he checked the safety and tossed the gun aside, grabbed my jaw and kissed me. Mitchell had a big grin plastered on his face, stretching the big scar on his unshaven cheek. He used his free hand to put a finger across his lips, hushing me." 

Quatre leaned forward to calm Trowa's remaining restless hand. He barely noticed how his own heart had begun beating like crazy, or how Catherine appeared to nearly have stopped breathing, a 'this can't be happening' written all across her face. 

"He spun me around, and placed one arm around my neck. I recognized the posture; it was a killing move. He whispered in my ear if I screamed or resisted, he'd snap my neck in two. Wasn't a doubt he could. His free hand began snaking under my sweater, tugged at my undershirt and roamed up along my stomach and chest. He kissed my temple, and let his hand out again. He - he fondled my ass for a while before he went for the pants buttons." Again, Trowa paused, jaw working a few times, soundlessly. "He-" 

Catherine interrupted, squeezed Trowa's hand a bit harder, far more on the verge of tears than Trowa, albeit all three had glassy eyes by this point. She put her free hand on Trowa's shoulder, getting his attention. "God, Trowa - please don't say-" 

He stared at her, faint smile returning, an equally vague sigh following. "No, Cathy. He didn't - he didn't rape me. He probably would have, but as he was struggling with the buttons on my pants, we both heard a twig snatch. He was surprised - whatever he was about to do, wouldn't look good in the eyes of the others, and he didn't want to get caught. He relaxed just a bit too much, though - I slipped out of his loosening grip, bit his arm hard and make as powerful a donkey kick as I could, playing 'Jinglebells' at full volume." He smirked. "I think I only heard Mitchell be that loud at one other occasion..." 

Trowa looked to both his listeners, apparently satisfied they were still with him, though they were squeezing the blood out his hands; one each. 

"I made a run for it, but fell as my pants went down. Got to my feet, hiked my pants up and ran as fast as I could back to the dormitory tent. Mitchell hissed whispers after me to come back between moans of pain. I didn't look back, didn't stop running until I was back on my sleeping bag. Wasn't until then it struck me I was in a room with all the other men of the company - men I up until then had trusted, just like Mitchell. I panicked again, but didn't dare run outside again, fearing I'd run into Mitchell - in the dormitory, he wouldn't try anything - at least, I hoped he didn't. I sat there, hugging my knees until morning. I didn't even notice when the others began waking up, didn't really notice the concerned ones that approached me. When one of them touched my arm, my fist went out on automatic, giving the poor guy a black eye. They reported me to the captain. He came later that day - I hadn't moved. The dormitory was the only place there were always more than two others, I think that's why I wanted to be there - but I didn't trust anyone enough to fall asleep, couldn't let anyone near me." 

Reliving the memories was not pleasant, Trowa's own breathing became ever more erratic with each sentence, and Quatre could feel how his pulse rose unsteadily. 

"I think he knew what had happened - or thought he knew. I never said a word about it. He spent the next days next to me, never getting within six feet of me, but slowly coaxing me to move, to eat, go to the bathroom, and finally to sleep. Through all that time I didn't see Mitchell once. I only saw him twice more before-" He stopped. "The captain got me to trust the group enough to function again, and I got better by time - but I've rarely been able to trust strangers again, or even just meet them. Mitchell was given a lot of high-risk positions in the next few engagements - those were normally put on rotation, as none of the mercenaries really wanted to risk their hides for anything but the payment, and they couldn't collect that if they were dead. The captain gave Mitchell five in a row, and everyone knew he was being punished for something. I'm not sure if he had confessed his actions to the captain, but he didn't quit - he took every one of the dangerous assignments, as if he sought penance. The two times I saw him - at the first, he tried to mumble something to me, but couldn't make a sound. At the last encounter, he handed me a letter, told me to read it. By the end of that day, he was dead, killed when covering the retreat of the entire unit." 

Silence fell upon the trailer, none of them moving. A minute passed, then two. 

"I never read the letter. The look in his eyes - I could never bear the thought of reading it. I tore it up at the burial ceremony, tossed the pieces down in the grave. We buried him, but I could never bury what had happened - not that it was so bad, I mean-" 

Catherine had heard more than enough. She embraced her brother in a powerful hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him in the process, no longer able to contain the tears, letting them drip along her cheeks onto the white-and-blue-checkered shirt of Trowa's clown outfit. "Not _bad_? Trowa, the man nearly _raped_ you - Of _course_ it was bad." 

"No, I - I managed to-" He choked on his own words. "I wasn't- I mean, I-" 

His mask broke. 

With the floodgate gone, the tears began to fall. 

Quatre still clutched Trowa's right hand, uncertain of what to do - he wanted to join the hug, but the fear of repercussions from that, including Catherine thinking him to exploit the situation, kept him from it - that is, until he saw Catherine calling him over with a not-so-subtle wave of hands - behind Trowa's back, of course. Quatre gladly obliged. Trowa gave no real sign of noticing neither hand signal nor the additional arms wrapping around him. The past had a strong grip on him, and only in time did it let go. All the while, the embrace lasted, his sister resting her chin on his left shoulder, best friend doing the same on the right, their arms trapping his own. In the end, it was the impact the first tears departing Quatre's eyes made on his lower arm that brought Trowa back to the present. He took a deep breath, tried moving his right arm, Quatre immediately releasing his embrace of the siblings so Trowa could wipe clear his eyes and cheeks. The faint smile returned, Catherine also let go - though she resumed the firm grip around Trowa's left hand. He raised his eyes to meet hers, then turning to do the same to Quatre. "Thank you - thank you both." Tentatively, his free hand searched out Quatre's, ending up getting both. 

The silence fell over the trailer once more. Catherine wiped her own eyes clear, the few traces of make-up long since disturbed by her tears, smudging her cheeks, and in turn the handkerchief Quatre offered her. She blew her nose. He didn't ask for the handkerchief back - nor accepted it when she offered. She looked a bit perplexed at first, then eyeing the handkerchief, and with a brief smile and an 'oh' she tucked it away in her own pocket. Unnerved by the silence that usually hadn't bothered her a bit, she was still at a loss of what to say. "Trowa... I don't know how we can help, but we will. Just-" She hesitated. "Are there any more secrets?" 

Trowa smiled at her, vague sigh escaping. "No, Cathy. No more secrets like that one." 

She hugged him again, though didn't linger this time. 

"It's okay, sis. It's okay... Now you know." 

She nodded, though couldn't brave a smile like Trowa - neither could Quatre, who had absentmindedly begun gently caressing the hand trapped between his palms. Trowa turned to him. 

"It's enough for one day, don't you think?" 

Quatre tried to smile, he really did. What came wasn't nearly his usual, but it was better than nothing. He nodded. "Trowa, it always helps to talk - even about bad things. We'll always be here for you, no matter what." 

Trowa couldn't help but chuckle. "You two keep saying that, like it was your mantra or something." 

Catherine gave him a stern look, mellowing soon after. "Don't try to joke yourself away from this, Trowa. A traumatic experience doesn't have to be serious or big to cause scars." Images of a carriage toppled and set ablaze by gunfire danced on her inner retina. She closed her eyes, shook the image away, telling herself now was not the time for flashbacks of sorrows long since processed and moved beyond - or mostly so. 

"I'm not. Quatre's right, it helps to talk. At least I'm not alone in knowing about it now." Long blink, new sigh. "Look, I don't want you two to give me pity over what happened. That was a long time ago, and I'm not angry about it anymore. There's no point in being angry with the dead. I just want to forget it ever happened, but I can't." 

She tightened her grasp of his hand, just for a moment. "Then don't try to. Some bad memories will be with us forever. We just have to learn to live with them - and live through them." 

Again, he nodded. "You mean, try to trust people again." 

She lit up a bit. "You already do that, Trowa. You trust Quatre and me, don't you?" 

Another chuckle. "Yeah, I guess so." 

"Wouldn't hurt if you opened up a bit to others too, you know - even strangers." 

The smile turned to a mild frown of disagreement. 

Catherine grinned. "I'm not pushing you, Trowa - I'm just saying it wouldn't be a bad thing if you learned how to talk to customers, that sort of thing. You can't go on believing everyone out there is out to get you, somehow." 

Sigh, frown gone. "Yeah... I'll try, okay?" 

Quatre placed one hand on Trowa's shoulder. "That's all we ask - and we'll help you any way we can." 

Trowa couldn't help but snicker a bit. "I think I've grasped that much now." 

Quatre shrugged. "Doesn't hurt to keep reminding you of it." 

Faint smile, nod. "Rationally, I know people don't intend to hurt me, but ever since that night, I've had trouble trusting strangers. Whenever someone offers friendship, I search for ulterior motives." 

"You learned to trust me and Quatre, didn't you?" 

"Yeah - but it took a while." 

"We're not expecting you to become a party lion overnight, Trowa." 

He closed his eyes, gave a curt nod. "That's good, because that won't happen. Like I said, I'll try." He paused. "I think we've done enough for one day now... I think I'd like some sleep." He withdrew his hands, and stood up, stretching briefly before sticking his thumbs under his suspenders, letting them give a slight slap. 

Catherine got up too, Quatre followed suit. Either maintained a vaguely worried expression. 

Trowa chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. It helped to talk. At least you know one reason I shun crowds and strangers." 

Quatre's right brow flagged. "There's more?" 

Soft smile, shrug. "Probably. It's not like I can list every little thing that has shaped who I am, Quatre. Like I said, I've always been a bit reclusive." 

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Riiiight, A _bit_, he says." She reached for Quatre's hand, and dragged him towards the door, speaking to Trowa's back. "Okay, Trowa. We'll leave you alone, if that's what you want. You know where we are if you need to talk more tonight, or need a hug, or-" 

Trowa waved his hand, shooing them away, his voice more amused than annoyed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah - get out, would you? I need to change out of this outfit - these pants are getting _incredibly_ uncomfortable - the damn suspenders aren't properly adjusted." Trowa tugged on his pants legs demonstratively. In reality, he was trying to get them out before they noticed how his cheeks were rapidly gaining color. 

His wish was granted, though. Catherine and Quatre excused themselves, yet again repeating their desire to help - and at last leaving him alone again. Of the three, Trowa slept easily that night. Catherine spent much of the night either studying the ceiling of her trailer, or turning towards the door, half-expecting Trowa to knock on it. Quatre also remained awake for much of the night, foregoing his usual evening cell-phone conferences. Fortunately, he had cut down on those as it was; one day worth of silence wasn't going to alarm anyone - he hoped. He hugged the turtleneck closer, feeling a bit ashamed of himself for doing so amidst his ever-growing concern for Trowa's mental welfare. He knew he was probably blowing things out of proportion - both with the sweater and with his worrying. That didn't stop him from maintaining his firm grip of both, though. He even contemplated walking back to Trowa's trailer, just to check that everything was okay - but he knew Trowa, should he notice, wouldn't be happy about that if nothing was wrong, and the thought of being pushed away kept Quatre in check. Only far into the night, did the quarrel raging in his mind between himself, the little imp and cherub angel come to a draw, deciding on not feeling too guilty for hugging the substitute while waiting for a chance for the real deal, nor be _too_ worried Trowa might be suffering that very minute. 

At least, he got a few hours of shut-eye before the duet of clock and clown brutally brought him back to reality. 

------- 

Trowa made good on his promise. Already the next day, he tried to smile while manning the cotton candy stand, and even mutter a few words during the trade; a little 'thank you' for the payment, and a brief 'here you go' when handing the sticks with the sweet stuff on to the toddlers. Over in the other booth, Quatre was left somewhat dumbstruck at first, and Trowa had made a genuine smile at seeing that expression. If anything, it was a motivator - though that little fact was only for Trowa to know. 

Over the next few days, Trowa tried to stick with his new tricks, but Quatre noticed he still avoided physical contact. Still, the little improvement was a welcome one; Trowa was on the right track. The invisible devilish avatar on his shoulder kept asking 'okay, so where's the switch to get him on _our_ track?' and similar questions, only to be rewarded with a mouthful of feathers courtesy of a bat of wings from his opposite, urging caution and patience. Of course, Quatre chose the latter. He had no intention of letting his desires get the better of him. As long as Trowa might not handle the questions he wanted to ask, Quatre would make good on his _own_ promise, and remain a good friend. 

In the end, the order to pack up came, and the gravel grounds were left behind. Most of the animals appeared happy with this; the gravel had been an uncomfortable foundation for the pens, even though but a very few didn't have both floor covers and layers of straw, grass or sawdust to make them better suited for paws, hoofs, flippers and big-toed feet. The relocation was as uneventful as the prior one - with two exceptions. Once aboard the space freighter, Quatre finally remembered a small set of curiosities that had bothered him for some time. When he found Trowa standing by the railing before one of the observation windows, staring blankly into the dark night that was space, he decided to ask about them. 

"Hey, Trowa - what are you looking at?" 

A shrug. 

"Nothing in particular?" 

Another shrug. "Just looking out at space. Haven't been out in space in anything smaller than these heavy-lift vehicles since the Mariemeia conflict - since the last time I piloted Heavyarms." 

Quatre smiled and placed a supporting hand on his friend's shoulder. "You miss him, don't you?" 

Trowa looked at him, nearly smirking. "I don't miss 'him', I might miss 'it' - unlike the rest of you, I didn't see my Gundam as anything but a machine. I know the rest of you spoke to them as if they were alive, as if they had souls." 

Mock offense. "They did! - I mean, the Zero system had some circuits and subroutines that made it capable of taking individual action." 

Faint grin. "Sandrock didn't have the Zero system installed for long, as I recall it." 

Quatre scratched the back of his neck. "Well, the Zero system was Instructor H's concept. I think he put a scaled-down version of the 'individual action' controls in Sandrock too - Sandrock let me go when I tried to self-detonate at the Singapore spaceport." 

Trowa's narrow smile endured, he returned to staring out the observation window. 

"Anyway... I've been wanting to ask you something..." 

"Like what?" 

"What's the manager's name?" 

Trowa shrugged. 

Quatre raised a brow. "You mean you don't know?" 

Vague smile. "That's something that's never really come up. He's an authority figure, so everyone calls him 'manager', or 'boss', or 'ringmaster'. I don't think he has any close friends, or friends that don't work for him. Even the government suits he makes arrangements with addresses him by title." 

"You have _got_ to be kidding - you've never heard his name?" 

Chuckle. "Frankly, I'm beginning to wonder if he even has one. He's never mentioned it to me, and I don't think anyone else knows either. Cathy uses his titles, just like everyone else. I don't think she knows either." 

Quatre closed his eyes, sighed and shook his head. "I'm wondering if I should even ask the next question..." 

Trowa turned to him again, done stargazing for now. "Just ask, Quatre. Not like I'm busy right now." 

"Okay - what about the name of the circus?" 

Another shrug. "What about it?" 

"Isn't it a little anonymous? I mean, why did-" He paused just long enough to grin. "Why did 'the manager' call his circus for 'A Circus'? What's the story behind that?" 

Trowa smirked back. "I don't know the guy's name, and now you think I know why he made a decision like that?" 

Quatre shrugged before briefly pressing thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, fighting off an imagined headache. "It's just so _frustrating_ - I mean, why would the man try to remain so anonymous, both with his name and his business?" 

Spinning around, leaning against the railing, Trowa couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's annoyed expression. "Next thing you'll be creating some conspiracy theory on it, just like Sylphie does on nearly everything." 

Quatre crossed his arms and leant towards the railing too, looking away from Trowa. "Hey, I'm not quite there yet, thank you very much." 

Another chuckle. "Just face it, Quatre. Some things are supposed to remain mysteries. You can't expect every question you have to be answered, or get the answers you want if you do." 

Quatre fell silent, and absentmindedly began an in-depth study of the floor plates, down to every screw, edge and thin streaks of grouting between them. In the end, Trowa began to worry, and he placed a hand on Quatre's shoulder. 

"Quatre? You okay?" 

Giving the hand two pats before facing its owner, Quatre mustered a strained smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just - I just think I'm getting a bit tired." He faked a yawn. 

Trowa didn't, letting a genuine yawn slip. "You're not alone, Quatre. I think nearly everyone has gone to the lounge as it is. We should probably get going too - or we'll have to nap on the floor or something." 

Quatre snickered. "Well, I'm sure we'd manage if that was the case. Let's go." 

With an approving nod from Trowa, they were on their way. 

------- 

The lounge was packed, most of the passengers asleep, resting as best they could in the chairs and couches dotting the room. At first, the prospect of sleeping on the floor seemed to became ever more real. Then Trowa spotted a small couch hidden in one of the corners, and waved Quatre over. On the way, he nearly stumbled in Joseph's outstretched legs. The gray-haired man was fast asleep in a recliner chair, though his hand was tightly clamped around the hand of the resident in the chair next to him - Sylphie. The plump woman was as gone to the world as the rest of the passengers, though she contributed far more than her fair share to the volume of slumber permeating the lounge. After a few more near-trips across outstretched legs in the dimly lit room, Quatre had made his way across to Trowa. 

"Here," he whispered. "You take the couch, and I'll take the floor." 

Quatre shook his head. "No, you found the couch. You sleep here, and I'll see if I can find something else." 

"There isn't anything else, Quatre - this is all that's free. Lie down, and-" 

"No - I refuse to accept that. How am I supposed to sleep if I know you have to lie on the floor?" 

Trowa rolled his eyes. "Fine. Think you can sleep sitting up?" 

Quatre nodded, smile of relief courtesy of the angel, though crossing over to a faint smirk, courtesy of the imp. This way, he wouldn't have a bad conscience about forcing Trowa to the floor, and he'd get a chance to be very close without suspicion. Mentally, he instructed the noble angel to keep the frisky imp in check for the night; Quatre did not want to wake up finding his hands had wandered into places they shouldn't be. 

The sat down next to each other. The couch was built for two, and the cushions were as soft as the dark blue material covering them, but the back support was much too short, and the elbow rests low. There was no real way for either of them to find a decent way to rest without some rather conspicuous posturing, and neither was inclined to do that much. Quatre straightened up, and leaned backwards until the back of his head met the wall behind the couch. His arms grew restless, and he didn't know quite where to put them. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced over at Trowa, who had also leant in against the wall, eyes already closed, neck slouched slightly forward and arms crossed. Quatre quickly mimicked the last gesture, and closed his eyes hoping to fall asleep soon - and to his credit, he didn't worry about how stiff his neck would be in the morning. As the imp was gaining power in his mind, there were other body parts he was far more concerned about, come morning. 

------- 

Hours later, he woke up when someone tapped against his foot. Quatre blinked a few times, adjusting to the faint lights of the room. It took a few seconds for his blurry vision and groggy mind to identify the awakener as Catherine, who had a grin plastered on her face. He rose his right hand to rub his eyes. "Cathy, what-" 

She placed a finger across her lips, shushing him. "Quiet," she whispered, "I don't want to wake up Trowa just yet." 

With that, Quatre finally noticed his left hand was trapped, and an extra weight was on his left shoulder. He turned only to face Trowa, resting against aforementioned shoulder, eyes closed. Quatre nearly jumped. The imp cheered. The angel groaned. Catherine snickered, doing her best to muffle the laughter with her palm. Quatre frowned at her. 

"Sorry, you guys just looked so cute. The others will probably wake up soon, though. Thought I'd warn you." 

He sighed, again using his free hand to pin the bridge of his nose. "This isn't happening..." 

She smiled. "Oh, you're done dreaming, mister. Looks like my little brother has decided you're good enough to act as a pillow, at least." 

Another frown. "Don't tease, Catherine. This isn't funny - if he wakes up, what am I going to say?" 

She shrugged. "It's not like you _did_ anything, Quatre. If anyone's going to be embarrassed, it'll be Trowa - and you can bet I'll be here to witness it." 

"That's mean, Catherine. What if-" Trowa stirred. Evidently, Quatre's steadily raising voice and gentle movement was dragging the clown away from the land of dreams, one tug at a time. In the end, Trowa blinked a few times, suddenly realizing where - and on who - he was resting, and he sat up with a start, eyes darting from Quatre's gentle smile to Catherine's outright grin, at last halting at Quatre. He looked down. "Oh, uhm... Sorry, I didn't mean to-" 

Catherine snickered. Trowa began blushing. Catherine started laughing. Trowa shot her glare full of daggers. 

Quatre did his best to suppress his own rising laughter, and in the end he let a brief chuckle go - but left it at that. "It's okay, Trowa. It's okay. Could just as well have been me falling over in my sleep." 

Catherine wiped away a tear of laughter. "Well, we _did_ say we'd help you any way we could, little brother - if you needed a pillow, why didn't you just say so?" 

The shade of red as well as the glare intensified, adding an arsenal that'd put Heavyarms to shame next to the daggers. 

The laughter had awakened a few of the other passengers too, though they were much too tired to pay attention to what took place in the far corner. 

"Well, boys - I think we'd better hurry. Both the bathrooms and the mess hall will be packed before long - this is a freighter after all, not a passenger ship." With that, she walked away, still snickering. 

Quatre got up, offered Trowa a hand to get up, being politely refused. Both stretched, Quatre rubbed his sore neck and shoulder. Trowa at last regained his normal coloring, though the sense of embarrassment endured. "Quatre, I'm really sorry for-" 

Sunshine faced him. "I told you - It's okay. I'll always be here if you need a friend to lean on, Trowa. Never forget that." 

Trowa nodded. 

Quatre rubbed his aching shoulder again. "Though next time - think you could you warn me beforehand?" 

Trowa couldn't help but smirk, but gave another curt nod, and led the way to refreshment. 

------- 

The new colony was by far the most crowded they had visited so far, both in terms of buildings and people. There weren't any open green areas large enough to house the circus, and Quatre could hear the groans from the riggers as it became clear they'd be setting up the tent on a paved car park cleared for the occasion. The trucks containing the specialized rigging gear were brought forward, and the crew went to work, if but even more disgruntled than usual. Catherine had grabbed Quatre and brought him along to set up advertisement posters and disperse flyers, intent on not exposing the young man to the rather colorful vocabulary she knew would saturate the parking lot before long. 

The asphalt jungle might not have offered _A Circus_ the best of places to set up the tents, but it did offer a great deal of customers. The first four evenings were packed, and the manager had quickly announced they would be staying here for a bit longer, judging from the crowds up to an unprecedented two weeks more. This bit of news was taken with everything ranging from indifference to cheers - with one exception. Trowa cringed, and clenched his teeth. During those first four days, Catherine had, in tandem with Quatre, dragged him away from the fenced-in parking lot to experience at least a few bits of the cityscape surrounding them; a visit to a fast-food joint, a quick walk in one of the few tiny parks the colony had to offer, an early matinee at the movie theatre and browsing a great number of shops. Two more weeks meant two more weeks of the same, and it wasn't something he looked forward to, given the crowds and cramped areas. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Catherine smirk. He sighed, letting his shoulders and chin fall in defeat. Some times, siblings were definitely not a good thing. Still, his two helpers always asked if it was alright before dragging him along somewhere - they did so almost to the point of frustration. Trowa had gone along with nearly all their ideas, though when his sister had suggested they visit a club - which by reputation sounded like a _very_ cramped, noisy and flashy place - he had flatly refused. He could have sworn he heard Quatre let go a sigh of relief then. 

They had been a bit eager, but as long as they were with him, Trowa felt he could manage - until he was right in the middle of a line, or in an overly crowded street. He barely showed his discomfort in those situations, but one thing was clear; venturing to those places alone was not something he was likely to try any time soon. 

The same evening, he was again on duty in the cotton candy stand, Quatre in the popcorn booth across the extended circus tent entrance, and Catherine walking back and forth between them, using the few quiet periods to discuss what they were going to do the following afternoon. By the five minutes to showtime mark, a consensus on a brief lunch had been reached, though Catherine was still lobbying to add a trip to an arcade she had spotted when she and Quatre dispersed posters and flyers. 

The main crowd had dissipated, leaving a few stressed families herding their youngest ones along and assorted latecomers rushing through the corridor of temptations. Nearly all were walking towards the tent, except three teenage girls standing in the corner of the ticket trailer and the popcorn stand, giggling profusely and sharing a few whispers. The long-haired brunette was clearly in disagreement with the other two about something, frowning, hissing out a 'No!' before her snickering friends twirled her around and pushed her towards the cotton candy booth. The girl shot her friends an angry glare. 

Trowa did what he tried to for all customers; give a polite smile - though it remained the barely-a-smile variant. "Only one, or are you shopping for your friends too?" 

The girl looked away, and her left foot made small, restless circles. "Uhm... No..." 

"Just one, then?" 

"Uhm... I was wondering... Are you doing anything tomorrow?" 

The little cogs that made the machinery of Trowa's brain came to a screeching halt. The only visible sign of this, however, was how he more or less froze. 

"Because, if you're not doing anything, I was wondering if you'd go out with me." 

Now, the wheels began spinning like crazy, the tiny teeth barely able to keep everything together. As mild panic set in, his jaw began working, though not a word came out. 

From across the makeshift hallway, Catherine and Quatre had heard it all, Catherine faced Quatre with an expression of mild shock, but wasn't met with the reaction she had expected - Quatre had a most sinister grin, as the little shoulder-imp had planted an idea in his head. He gave Catherine a wink, before refocusing on his word-fumbling friend. "Hey, Trowa - don't keep the young lady waiting for an answer, now." The two in question both shot him a look, both beginning to display the tell-tale sign of embarrassment, albeit the girl had a more advanced case. 

Catherine frowned at him, unsure of what to make of this at first, before realizing- "Test?" she whispered. 

Quatre nodded. 

"Alright, then. If this is what you want, I'll help." 

Again, she got a subtle nod for an answer. With that, she went across to the cotton candy stand. Trowa was still struggling with the first word, at last getting out an "I..." 

"Oh, he's not doing anything special tomorrow - right, Trowa?" 

The brunette jumped at Catherine's sudden intervention, but turned her eyes back at Trowa, awaiting her answer. 

If nothing else, the comments from his sister and friend brought the machinery of Trowa's mind back into balance, first action taken being to shoot a glare at his sibling. "Cathy..." he grumbled. 

She replied with a grin. "Oh, come on. It's not like you have any duties Quatre and I can't cover for. I'm sure Fang and the others can survive a few hours without you." 

Taking the time to send another glare her way, Trowa blanked his face, returning to the young woman. He sighed. "Look, miss-" 

"Oh," she gasped, offering her hand, blush deepening. "I forgot - I'm Melissa." 

Trowa took her hand, gave it two firm shakes. "Trowa." 

She smiled. "I know. My friends and I watched the show yesterday too, and we read your name in the program." 

Trowa forced his vague smile. "Look, Melissa - I'm-" 

On the other side, the imp was highly busy fighting off the angel, doing his best to maintain control of Quatre's train of thought, prodding his brain with a scythe, rather than a tri-fork. Precision tools can be so much more effective... "Trowa, she's not asking for the world. Think about it - and if not, I'm sure Catherine and I can think of some other activity tomorrow. There's always that club, and-" 

Trowa's visible eye flashed opened in panic, and pinned between a rock and a hard place, he chose what he thought was less of a pain. Calming down, and letting the far recesses of his mind plot vengeance on his meddling friends, he was barely able to stutter a "O-Okay." 

Catherine clapped him on the shoulder. "Good boy." She beamed at Melissa. "Just be by the entrance at noon tomorrow, we'll have him ready for you." 

Melissa reflected the light, nodded twice, looked to Trowa only to get a reluctant nod in confirmation, before her two giggling friends swept her along into the circus tent, where the show had just begun. The three shopkeepers watched as they vanished inside. 

Once more, Trowa glared at Catherine, having selected his first target given her last patronizing remarks. It was all too clear in his mind whose undies would be flagging below the main streamer tomorrow. Now, as for Quatre- 

"Don't look so angry, brother dear. She looks like a nice girl, and you'd do good mingling with people." 

"Cathy, I thought I told the two of you _not_ to take control of my life." 

She snickered. "Well, we're not - we're just giving you a little push in the right direction." 

His glare softened slightly, but he remained far from happy. 

"Oh, come on - you know this is a good thing. At least give her a chance before hiding away." 

Trowa sighed. "As if I had a choice now..." 

In the popcorn booth, the angel was coming close to losing the halo, as the minute cherub had the mini-demon in a stranglehold, shaking him profusely for sponsoring such an insane plan. Fortunately, they had taken the fight behind Quatre's neck; out of sight, out of mind. Quatre was happy Trowa had agreed to - okay, agreed to be _pushed_ into - the impromptu date, but he was far from certain he had done the right thing in forcing this issue. He wanted his answers, and he wanted to make Trowa less of a cagey individual, and for a brief moment this had seemed the best chance at getting both done. A tiny part of his mind was silently praying Trowa's discomfort with the date wasn't just due to his reclusive nature. When Trowa shot him an angry glare too, Quatre just smiled in return, eyes almost closed, acting as innocent as could be. That expression had worked on countless others in the past, though it appeared futile versus Trowa right now. Quatre sighed, and was just about to offer a vague apology when Sylphie came over, having closed her ticket stand, opening the door to the cotton candy booth. 

"Off you go, son. I'll take over from here. You get ready for the show - and you too, Miss Bloom." Both youngsters nodded, Trowa with a serene expression, Catherine still grinning. She have Quatre a wink before following her brother out a small gap between the popcorn trailer and the tent. Sylphie noticed it too, and gave Quatre a curious look. "Now, what was that all about, son? Anything I might want to know?" 

Quatre chuckled. "No, I don't think so." 

Sylphie remained unconvinced, but shrugged it off. It was just about then Quatre realized her speech pattern had gained a new word. 

"Sylphie, I think you've been spending a bit too much time with Joseph lately - He's usually the one that uses the patriarchal 'son' remark to everyone." 

The plump woman grinned, began to blush and burst out in a short-lived laugh as she re-stocked the cotton candy machine. "Maybe so... Maybe so." 

------- 

Later that evening, Quatre was about to do the dishes after his supper when three soft knocks on the door cancelled his plans. He opened the door to face a rather sullen-looking Trowa. 

"May I come in?" 

Quatre quickly side-stepped to let Trowa in, though on his shoulder, the invisible imp cried out for caution; there could be revenge in store. The angel gave better advice; a pre-emptive defense. Quatre closed the door as Trowa sat down in the left couch at the table at the trailer's end, and tried to think of the right words to say. The choice was simple. "I'm sorry, Trowa - I didn't mean to force you on a date with that girl, but it's for your own good. You need to be with other people than Catherine and the rest of us here at the circus." 

Trowa sighed, chuckled. "Yeah, I know." He looked up from the table. "Sit down, would you? I have something to ask you." 

Quatre obeyed, and sat down on the right-side couch, leaning in over the small table. "What was the question?" 

At first, Trowa said nothing. Only the trained eye could notice he was gently biting his lower lip. "I... About the date tomorrow..." 

"Yes?" 

"What do you do on a date?" 

Quatre was at a loss, and couldn't help his jaw drooping a bit, or the vague snicker brewing within. He managed to limit it to a friendly smile - though it came dangerously close to a smirk. "Trowa, you have to be kidding - you have to have _some_ idea about-" 

"I'm not a social person, Quatre. I've never _been_ on a date before. I'm not dumb, I know the concept, but I just don't know what to _do_ - I mean..." 

Quatre sighed. "I think you're just nervous about tomorrow. Don't worry, Melissa isn't nearly as dangerous as Fang, so why are you so concerned about a little date?" 

"Fang I _know_. I don't know people. Like I've said before, beasts are easy to read because they flaunt what they think, and feel. People don't." 

Another sigh, brief snicker. "Trowa, don't worry, okay? Look, I'm not an expert on this - I've never been on a real date either, only some staged events my meddling sisters arranged - but as far as I know, all you have to do is try to give her a good time, and have a good time yourself. Since Melissa asked you out, maybe she has some plans. If not, you could suggest to just take a walk in the park, or go catch a movie, or go to a diner, anything - and remember that you're there to find out more about her, and talk about yourself. That means you have to talk. I'm not saying you're to divulge your soul, just make pleasant conversation." 

Trowa briefly hid his face in his hands, his voice weary. "Yeah, yeah, yeah - I got all that... I'm just-" 

"Incredibly nervous?" 

Trowa smirked. "Yeah." 

Quatre smiled. "You'll do just fine, Trowa. Just be yourself - though answering her questions with more than 'yes' and 'no' nods would probably be nice." 

Soft laugh. 

Silence. 

"There's... one other thing." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah... I'm not sure how to ask this without making it sound really awkward, but-" 

Quatre beamed, trying to stagger the butterflies in his belly, knowing it couldn't be what he wished for - not that he was entirely sure what he wished for anymore, either. "Just ask, Trowa." 

"I couldn't ask Cathy, she'd just make fun of me. You _did_ say you'd help me with anything, right?" 

Affirmative nod. "Whatever it is, I promise not to laugh." 

Trowa hesitated, staring into the table. "I - I need help with touches." 

Quatre couldn't help but grin, but held the line there. "Touches?" 

Trowa nodded, his cheeks gaining color already. Seeing Quatre's grin didn't help. "Look, I've always been a reserved person, and ever since Mitchell-" He paused. "Ever since then I've had an even harder time with close contact. It keeps triggering bad memories." 

Immediately looking serious, Quatre's internal butterflies died. "You don't have that problem with Catherine, or me, or any of the other pilots." 

"That'd different - I trust Cathy, and you, and the others, but if you had tried something more than a brief, gentle handshake that first day..." 

Quatre nodded. "Okay. So, basically, you have some intimacy issues." 

Trowa gave a few short, shy nods, making a fair impersonation of a tomato. "It sounds so stupid..." 

With his gentlest smile, Quatre placed both palms on the table. "No. No, it isn't stupid at all, Trowa. For anyone who doesn't have a specific problem, that problem sounds silly - but it certainly isn't to those who have it. It's nothing to be ashamed about, Trowa." Quatre paused, waiting for another nod. "I don't think Melissa is planning to jump you on the first date, though. She looked as shy as you, Trowa - and it's not like you can't handle contact. You shook her hand, didn't you?" 

"Yeah - but that's only because I was more or less forced to." 

Chuckle. "Only by your good manners." 

No answer, though the vague smile appeared. 

"Okay - here's a suggestion. If you're really so worried, try practicing with my hands, just pretend they are Melissa's." 

Trowa's serene eye met him, as if asking for confirmation. 

Quatre couldn't help but smile. "I won't tell Catherine, or anyone else. I promised to help you, so if this is what you need..." 

Again, Trowa nodded, and tentatively reached out for Quatre's left hand with his right, intertwining their fingers. He closed his eyes, and the grip grew tenser. Quatre winced. 

"Easy, Trowa. You're not planning to crush her hand, are you?" The grip loosened, Trowa's thumb gently smoothing over the back of Quatre's. Quatre fought a blush on his own, but as Trowa kept his eyes closed, he wasn't at immediate risk. 

For a few blessed minutes, that was all there was; silence except faint breaths, no movement except vague, meaningless caresses, no sensations other than the slightly agitated pulse from within the other's palm - and then it all ended. Trowa loosened his grip, and withdrew his hand, opening his eyes again at the same time, cheeks still not at their usual coloring. Quatre's own blush hadn't dissipated altogether either, and the quivering eye before him suggested it hadn't gone unnoticed. "I - I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked-" 

With a smile bordering on a grin, Quatre again put both palms flat on the table. "It's okay, Trowa. It doesn't bother me at all, I'm just - I'm just happy." 

Trowa flagged a brow. "Happy?" 

Both angel and imp went 'Doh!', complete with wrist-to-forehead slap. Quatre's mind raced to save the situation. "Uhm - Yeah, happy for you. I mean, if you're willing to let Melissa get this close to you, you're finally opening up to the world." 

Trowa glared into the table, at a spot somewhere between Quatre's hands. "Oh..." 

For a second, Quatre wanted to reach out and lift Trowa's chin up, but given the circumstances, he chose another way to face him again; leaning forward enough to look up below the big bang. At this, Trowa leant back, and Quatre copied. "Look, I think you'll do just fine for a first date, Trowa. At least you can hold her hand now, if it feels right - right?" 

Hesitantly, Trowa nodded. 

Quatre chuckled. "Melissa didn't strike me as a taker of initiative, so you probably don't have to worry. Just try to have a good time tomorrow, okay?" 

Again, he got a nod. 

"And don't ever feel awkward about asking me for a favor. Catherine and I promised we'd help you with whatever you ask, remember?" 

A smirk was all he got at first. "I've lost track of how many reminders I've gotten..." 

Teasing sunbeam. "Need one more?" 

Chuckle. "No thanks, I'm full." For a precious few seconds, Trowa brought out a genuine smile. He stood up and headed towards the door. "Thanks, Quatre." 

"Don't mention it." Quatre got up too, and lifted the couch seat to bring out the sheets and blankets, preparing to convert the little couch section to a bed. 

It was about then Trowa noticed something dark green sticking out in all the off-white bedlinen. "What's that?" 

Quatre followed Trowa's gaze, only to see one arm of a certain turtleneck stick out from the white pile. With a quick silent curse - a mild one, of course, but vivid enough to make the angel lift a brow - and a speedier arm movement, he tucked the dark green in among all the white. "Uhm, nothing. Nothing at all - it was just- just-" His mind raced towards an answer. The imp whispered something in his ear, and before Quatre could really think it over, out of his mouth it went. "My cuddle blankie." 

It was hard to tell which of the two boys had the greatest expression of surprise, but the roaring laughter most certainly belonged to the imp that had fallen flat on his butt, clutching his stomach. On the other side, the angel let a low groan go, though the halo shook as he covered up a snicker. Within, Quatre growled, mentally slapping himself for saying such an incredibly stupid thing... ...even if there was some truth in it - but that couldn't stop his cheeks from flushing. Trowa tilted his head in order to catch Quatre's downcast eyes. "Your... blankie?" 

Quatre gulped. "Uh, yeah." He could feel the flush get worse by the minute. He looked up to see Trowa smile back at him. "Look, I know how it sounds, but-" 

Trowa chuckled. "No - no, that's okay, Quatre." He paused a bit. "We all have our secrets, things we don't want others to know." 

A nod, cheeks coming up on crimson color. 

Trowa put his shoes, still smiling. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. You don't tell about my problems, I won't tell anyone about yours. Deal?" 

Another nod, sheepish grin. 

"Good night, Quatre. Sleep well." And with that, Trowa went out the door and disappeared into the oncoming artificial night. 

Left all to himself - other than the invisible pair on his shoulders - Quatre fell back on the couch, sighed, and stared at his elevated left hand, as if he still felt the touch of Trowa linger on his skin. Then he buried his face in his palms, trying to rub out the intense feeling of embarrassment, silently mumbling a prayer in thanks Trowa hadn't noticed what the 'blankie' really was. In the end, Quatre couldn't help but grin at it all. His left hand went inside the bundle of blankets and pulled out the dark green turtleneck, which he promptly embraced, feeling no shame at all in doing so - it was his blankie, after all - at least for now. He closed his eyes, calmed his breathing and felt his cheeks cool. After a few minutes of rest, he decided to make the bed before falling asleep, and reluctantly put the dark green blankie aside while he did so - though he soon slumbered with it trapped in his grip, a content smile on his lips, and his unearthly conscience creation companions both watched over him as he slept - though they did exchange a few heated whispers about the eve's events. 

------- 

The morning came much too soon, and although Quatre tried blocking out the dual wailing with Trowa's sweater, it didn't stop much. As one of the sleeves fell across his face, the smell tickled his nose, though. After taking a deep breath, Quatre managed to get upright, turned the alarm clock off, rubbed his eyes, and searched out some clothes in his wardrobe to replace his pajamas before sitting down again to wait for his neighbor to finish in their shared bathroom. 

From nine onwards, Quatre sat in the ticket booth, selling tickets to the relatively few who wanted to buy seats in advance. In the often extensive pauses, he sifted through the stack of old magazines. None of it really caught his eye; much of it he'd read already. Boredom was well underway to overtake him when Catherine snuck up around the side of the booth and knocked on the glass, startling him. She grinned. 

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you there." 

Quatre sighed into a smile. "No, that's okay. What do you want, Catherine?" 

"Just wanted to let you know Sylphie will take over for you around noon. You and I have to fill in for Trowa, remember?" 

"Yeah, I remember." 

She leant in closer to the top little round hole in the front glass window, a streak of worry coming across her. "Are you sure this was a good idea?" 

He closed his eyes, thinking about it yet again, but forming the same conclusion he had the last umpteen times. "I think so. He needs to socialize, you said so yourself." 

Catherine made a brief, strained smile. "I did, but... I didn't want you to get hurt either, Quatre. I mean, you're a nice guy, and-" 

"I'll be fine, Catherine. If I couldn't handle this, would I have suggested it in the first place?" 

She shrugged. "I don't know, Quatre - to me, it looks like this is tearing you apart." 

Quatre slumped into his chair. "It does hurt - but other than asking him directly, this looked like the best way to try to find out if Trowa is-" 

"On 'your' side?" 

He chuckled. "I was going for 'able to socialize', but that works too." 

Return smile. "Don't give up hope, Quatre - but please don't hate me for wishing Trowa's date goes well." 

Quatre sighed. "I won't. I hope it goes well too, for Trowa's sake. If he can get over all his inhibitions, I might dare ask him flat out at some point, and not fear he couldn't handle the questions." 

Grin. "So, you _did_ have an ulterior motive here." 

Chuckle. "Always. I'd do anything to help Trowa - but I won't kill my dreams just yet." 

Gentle laughter. "Good for you." Her eyebrows shaped an odd dangerous-looking determined furrow, and Quatre couldn't help but feel trouble was coming - last time he'd seen such a look, he'd ended up with a rapier through his side. The rapidly batting eyelashes took away the sinister of Catherine's expression, though. "You know, I'm sure you'd be a superb rebound guy for Trowa to use once this Melissa girl dumps him ruthlessly in a year or ten." 

With a snort, Quatre stuck his arm out the bottom opening in the glass, just enough to give Catherine a gentle punch to the elbow resting on the short wooden counter. "No wonder why Trowa doesn't talk to people - if you're there to tease him about everything he says or does-" 

She grinned and propped herself up on the side of the booth, just out of Quatre's immediate reach. "Well, he's usually so grave and unresponsive. I've given up on teasing him, unless I _know_ it'd cause a reaction." She turned her eyes back on Quatre. "But you make a much better target, I'm afraid. You're much easier to get all flushed and flustered." 

Quatre was about to make as scathing a retort as the imp could shout in his ear when the angel tapped both their shoulders, his counterpart with his hand, Quatre with his foot, notifying them they had company. 

Trowa leant in against the other booth. "Am I interrupting something?" 

Catherine looked at him, and gave him a quick inspection. "Going for a mundane look, Trowa? Shouldn't you be wearing green baggy pants instead of those jeans?" 

A faint sigh within smile. "Very funny, sis." 

She walked over to him, brushed his shoulders off and straightened his dark blue turtleneck here and there before Trowa had had enough, and with the swoop of a hand shoved Catherine's meddling fingers out of the way. She grinned back at him. "You look good, brother dear." 

A vague snort. "I can't remember a single time you've called me that without wanting something." 

Catherine shrugged. "There's a first time for everything, isn't there?" 

Trowa looked past her at Quatre. "Be _very_ careful around this woman, or she'll twist you around her little finger before you ever knew what hit you." 

She mocked a punch at him. "Hey, don't you go telling all my secrets - that's not fair!" 

Quatre snickered, but saw something that made him knock on the glass to alert the bickering Bloom siblings. They both turned to the sound. Quatre pointed down one section of the parking lot. "We've got company." 

In the distance, Melissa caught sight of them too, and waved at them, approaching at a slow, insecure pace. Catherine was back at Quatre's booth, Trowa did a final straightening of his sleeves, and tried to lean as relaxed as his sister to the opposite ticket stand - failing, but not by enough for the approaching girl to notice. 

She stopped at the bottom of the ticket stand trailer onramp, eyes downcast, one hand clasping the other before her. "Uhm... Hi." 

Trowa smiled ever so faintly. "Hi." 

Melissa looked like she was at the verge of a blush and a giggle, though neither surfaced. "Ready to go?" 

He nodded, placed his hands in his pockets and took the few steps down the onramp. Without another word, the two walked side by side across the open section of the parking lot. They were halfway across when Catherine found it proper to shout after them "Make sure to bring him back before the show starts, okay?" Even at that distance, they could clearly see Melissa grin and nod, and Trowa reach for this temples with one hand, minutely shaking his head. Catherine snickered, and Quatre couldn't help but share in her glee. 

Plump and ever-grinning Sylphie approached them, though her eyes were following Trowa and Melissa. When she was close enough, she broke out in a rather loud whisper. "That's so sweet - I never thought I'd see the day that boy went out with someone." She sighed. "Anyway, off you go, children. You have chores to attend to." Sylphie shooed Quatre and Catherine away in a hurry, and sat down in the booth, soon hard at work reading one of the overly dramatic stories within the magazines. 

The two were well on their way to the animal cages before Catherine broke their little silence. "I don't think you have to worry, Quatre." 

The words tore Quatre away from the distracting debate his two invisible conscience guardians were having over Trowa's date. "Hm?" 

She chuckled. "I said, I don't think you have to worry." 

Shrug. "Who said I was worrying?" 

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Oh, _please_." 

Short-lived smirk, followed by brief silence. Catherine mumbled something, but Quatre couldn't catch it. "What did you say?" 

"Hm? Oh, I was just thinking about the verdict of a king." 

"Huh?" 

Mild chuckle. "There's a story in the Bible - two women come before king Salomon with a baby boy, both claiming to be the mother of the child. The king asks his men to cut the kid in two, and give each woman one half. The real mother then pleads the king to award the child to the other woman, to spare the baby's life." 

Quatre nodded. "I've heard that one. King Salomon then gives that woman the child, knowing she was the real mother, as she'd rather give her son up than see him die." 

"Right. I think that's kind of what you've done, Quatre. You're giving up _your_ baby to another, you love Trowa so much you'd rather see him happy than with you. That's why I think you'll get him back, too." 

Faint laughter, ending in a sigh. "Maybe - but who'll be the king making that call?" 

Catherine shrugged. "In this case, I think the baby and the king are the same." 

Quatre's shoulders slumped just enough to make his conscience compatriots cling to his shirt collar to avoid sliding off. 

She grinned at him. "Look, I told you - don't worry. I think Trowa would rather be with you than Melissa - at least right now. When the both of you are ready to talk, I'm sure it'll all work out. Things have a funny way of doing just that, you know. You just have to let them happen." 

Quatre nodded again, but didn't answer. 

They walked past the elephant pen, and Catherine reached out for the shovel resting against the fence, offering it to Quatre. "Here." 

He eyed it suspiciously. 

"We're going to share Trowa's duties, right? I'll distribute the food, and you take care of the other business." 

Quatre frowned. "How come _I_ have to do the dirty work?" 

Catherine laughed. "A little dirt never hurt anyone, Quatre. I think you'd look good in work boots and handling a poop scoop - much better than I would, at least. Besides, if you deal with those duties, I'm sure I'll forget all about 'mentioning' to Trowa that cover of yours isn't entirely true." 

"You wouldn't dare." 

She grinned. "Want to bet?" 

Quatre grumbled, but accepted the shovel anyway, and muttered a few choice words to himself as he walked over to the tool-shed trailer to fetch some sturdy boots. 

"Meet me at my trailer by five, okay? I'll make us some dinner!" she yelled after him. Quatre didn't turn around, just waved his empty hand noting he'd heard. Catherine chuckled, leant in against the fence and crossed her arms. At least she'd gotten him away from thinking of Trowa's date. She felt it was better for Quatre to be angry with her and the task at hand, than brooding over Trowa. With a sigh, she pushed away from the fence and headed over to fetch the food cart, making a mental note to flat-out interrogate her brother about the little outing upon his return. Whatever would happen, it couldn't become worse than it already was... right? 

Right about then, Catherine noticed a few extra pieces of thin, delicate cloth waving below the streamer above the big top. 

* * *

-end Ordeals-   
-TBC, if requested- 

AN: As always, I'll leave you with a variation of this message: _  
  
Thanks to the few   
who read and review   
and thus urge me to   
work hard on a new   
chapter. _   
  
;-) 

  
  
  
  
  



	5. Nudge

  
**Escaping Solitude**   
#4 - Nudge

AN: For all relevant information about this fanfic, read the first bit of the prologue.   
JEBROCK, evil-kat, Spirit, judy, Ryuei Jaganshi, shadowdragon58, miakalili, O'phelia - thank you kindly for your feedback, it's greatly appreciated. My apologies for the long wait - been much too busy with college lately.   
We're slowly transgressing towards fully exploiting that 'R' letter, and maybe stretch it a bit... Okay, _very_ slowly, but we'll get there. :-) 

* * *

Quatre's deep frown and the throbbing furrows on his forehead were just as good indicators of his mood as the near-curses he kept mumbling to himself, or the way he sent the shovel hard into the piles of sand, dirt and sawdust, swiftly lifting the scoop with just enough force not to send the cargo airborne, but rather in a slingshot motion strong enough to deposit the shovel contents in the wheelbarrow at his side, before repeating the process yet again, filling the wheelbarrow with foul-smelling content in no time flat. 

All in all, he was not happy. 

Then again, that same anger that kept him pushing the full wheelbarrow at high speed towards the biowaste dumpster kept him from thinking about Trowa's date, much less worrying over it. Instead, the idle part of his mind was busy plotting revenge, easily helped by the never-failing creativity of the imaginative imp - though the angel kept trying to let Catherine escape a bit easier, reminding both Quatre and the imp of how helpful she'd been - for a back-stabbing blackmailer. Quatre hit the dumpster onramp at enough speed to make the wheelbarrow bounce onto the wide piece of plank, and he deposited the contents quickly, not wanting to stay a second longer than he had to above the badly odored container crate. If the manager didn't change his mind - which seemed very unlikely - that dumpster might for once be completely filled up by departure time, and the very thought of that was unpleasant enough. 

Quatre had turned to walk back down from the onramp plank when he noticed something fluttering below the streamer above the main tent. He squinted and finally realized what it was, short-lived surprise giving way to a snicker. He had a fairly good idea of who the owner was, as well as who the perpetrator that pinned the fluttering pieces of undergarments up there had to be. For a fleeting moment, Quatre cursed himself for not having a camera handy. The scent from the dumpster brought him back quickly enough, and with that reminder of his current work detail, he stepped down the onramp, wheelbarrow in tow. 

In the midst of filling the wheelbarrow with a load of sawdust, he spotted a figure balancing up one of the taut wires of the tent rigging. At first, Quatre wondered if it was Catherine - but the body shape was definitely _not_ hers. Whoever was up there noticed him though, and when the figure waved a brown cap, it dawned on Quatre who the tightrope walker was. He waved back to Joseph, still a bit shocked the old man would risk his neck like that. Joseph waved to someone on the other side of the tent too, before proceeding up towards the streamer. Quatre watched him every step of the way, taking in how easily the big-nosed clown tentatively made his way up the steep angle. At least there was no wind to speak of in the colonies - had there been, the feat would have been far more difficult. Still, Quatre was left impressed enough to see Joseph reach the top, grab a hold of the little flag pole and untie the few pieces of flimsy clothing. Joseph laughed and waved them as a prize, and from the other side of the main tent, Quatre could hear a fierce growl in response. Of course, the animal cages were on _this_ side... 

He didn't wait to see if Joseph made it down safely - or if he would still be breathing when he got down. If the man surrendered his climbing trophy peacefully, they would hopefully not find friar clown's body decorated with throwing daggers any time soon. 

It wasn't until he unloaded the third wheelbarrow with smell-impairing sawdust Quatre realized he might be a target for Trowa's little revenge too. If he'd been upset enough to go after Catherine for her participation, what would Trowa not do to him, given that he had been just as active in setting up the date? The imp was more than happy to offer a few scenarios, all of which made Quatre shudder - and not in a good way. The minute shoulder-fiend continued the imagery for a few minutes more, delighting in Quatre's troubled expressions, though his laughter was at last cut short by a powerful angelic slap to the head. Never mess with the forces of good, unless you mean business. With a sigh and a shrug, Quatre resumed his duties. If Trowa had something in store for him, he'd know soon enough. Still, he made a mental note to check all drawers upon his return to the trailer. He had no desire to see his own underwear flying in the wind. 

After finishing his own chores as well as his share of Trowa's, Quatre had gone over to Catherine for dinner, just as planned. They didn't speak much. Catherine was still fuming over having her delicates strung up for the world to see - even though she had gotten them back - and it was all too clear that behind her mutters of anger and occasional plotting smirk she was well on her way to find a way to get even. Quatre wisely refrained from commenting the situation, and concentrated on his meal. 

Trowa returned only minutes before show-time, leaving no time to talk - and since Trowa showed up so late, Catherine had taken control of the cotton candy stand until Sylphie could replace her, leaving Quatre stuck in the popcorn booth. He hadn't seen Melissa anywhere, but he caught Trowa's faint smile as he disappeared through the rear entrance of the big top. As the good feelings for Trowa's apparent happiness mingled with slight selfish sadness for the same, a weary smile came across Quatre. He shook the thoughts away and sighed, remembering he'd put himself as well as Trowa up to this. Now all that was left, was to see it through to the end. In some far recess of his mind, he prayed it would turn out well. On one shoulder, the angel did the same. The imp just huffed, and accused the other two for not having enough faith - something that earned him an odd one-eye glare from the feathered one, the other eye remaining closed in reverence. It dawned on the black creature what he'd just said, and he grinned sheepishly, give a quick rub to his neck and adjusted the dark baseball cap to fit more snuggly between the two sharp protrusions on his forehead, before trying to cover up his blunder, stumbling even more on the words. Quatre could swear he heard the white one snicker, and though the angel's palms remained clasped in prayer, the beginnings of a grin showed on tightly pressed lips. 

Only when Sylphie called his name, making him aware he had a new customer, did Quatre return from his thoughts. As he scooped up a bucket of popcorn for the little kid barely able to reach the counter, he cursed himself for wallowing so in self-pity. If Trowa was happy, then that was all that mattered. Still, he couldn't wait to hear all about the date later - if only he could beat Catherine to ask - no, even better, have Catherine ask all the questions, and get the answers he craved without effort or risk. The usual sunshine returned to his face, and as the toddler placed a crumpled bill for payment, he got more than the note's worth of popcorn in return, along with Quatre's biggest smile of the day. 

The kid grinned even greater, and took off into the tent. 

From the other booth, Sylphie smiled at him, handing a cotton candy stick to the last customer in line. When they were alone, she chuckled. "You're a nice boy, Quatre - but if you continue to give more than they pay for, the manager could get upset." 

His cheeks turned slightly pink, and he took to studying the counter. 

Again, Sylphie chuckled. "Don't worry, I won't tell." She paused for a minute as she began to restock the machine. "So, what put you in such a good and generous mood, son? I thought Trowa was the one with the date." 

Quatre smiled back at her, shrugged before attending to his own machine. "Sometimes, knowing others are happy makes yourself happy..." 

She nodded in agreement, and Quatre was glad she didn't ask further. 

------- 

A few minutes before the pause in the show, Joseph came around. He exchanged a few quiet words with Sylphie. Quatre couldn't hear them from across the makeshift hallway - not that he wanted to listen in on the conversations of others in the first place - but the words were evidently pleasing ones, as Sylphie smiled and giggled at them. The gray-haired man spun around and leant back against the counter, elbows back to rest on it. 

"Quatre, if you want, I can take over the popcorn booth for the rest of the evening." Taken a bit by surprise by the offer, Quatre wasn't able to formulate a response before Joseph continued. "You know, why don't you go watch the show for once? You've already missed the highlight, of course - since I'm done, but..." He grinned. 

"O-okay. If it's no bother-" 

"Oh, it's no bother at all, son. Now, shoo. I think Catherine is about to throw her daggers - she might pick a volunteer from the audience, so don't take a seat near the front, unless you're feeling very lucky." 

For half a second, Quatre's mouth remained agape, but he grinned along with the other two soon enough, quickly giving in to the offer. 

------- 

Quatre found himself a free seat high up in the bleachers, at the very back, next to the bandstand above the artist entrance. The corner was rather dark, but he felt that was an advantage. He'd rather nobody - especially not Trowa - see him, notice his presence and act more than perform. 

As Joseph had promised, he arrived just in time for Catherine's dagger tosses. Trowa was standing in front of the wooden target board, perfectly still as always. Something was amiss, though. With a squint, Quatre determined what it was - Trowa lips curled just a bit, a very vague smile if there ever was one. For a moment, he wondered if that was enough to throw Catherine's aim off. Trowa had told him how she'd made a slip with the knives the first time he stood before that board, simply because he didn't look afraid. Now that he looked _happy_, instead of his usual blank, would Catherine make an even worse slip? 

Fortunately, Quatre's concern turned out to be without foundation. Catherine had hesitated on her first toss, but each knife, including those that were supposed to be 'near-misses', according to their scripted act, found their precise mark. Both prima donna and clown were bowing and giving way to the next act long before Quatre's heart climbed down from his throat and found a relaxed pace again. Somewhere during the trained sea lions' playful acts with nose trumpets, flipper claps and hugs given to their handlers, did he find the will to laugh again, applauding along with the audience. His nerves found themselves on edge again when Trowa and Catherine returned to make their fleeting dance in the trapezes and ropes high up under the big top, and only through reassuring himself over and over again that they were professionals and knew what they were doing, was he able to calm down. 

Soon enough, the show came to an end, the manager beaming with pride as he called in all the performers - that is, the human ones that hadn't already retired for the eve - and with them thanked their audience. As the applause died down, the performers retired through their exit, and the audience through the main entrance. Quatre considered heading right back to his own trailer, but he was very curious as to how Trowa's date had gone, and wanted to find out right away - but he didn't want to appear to eager about it, either. In the end, he waited until most of the crowd had disappeared before sneaking down the bleachers and out the artist entrance. 

He found Trowa and Catherine right behind the now drawn curtains, packing away the throwing daggers. Catherine gave him a genuine smile for a greeting, Trowa closed the box with the daggers, and nodded. His vague smile still remained. A few seconds passed before Catherine reached out for the box to stow it away with the target board. "So, did you watch the show?" 

Quatre nodded. "Yeah, a bit of it, at least." 

"Did we do good?" 

Faint sunshine. "Yeah, you did just fine - more than fine." 

Catherine grinned, nodded in acknowledgement. Another few seconds of silence passed. As the last of the other performers left the entrance area, Catherine turned to Trowa. "So, tell us, brother dear - how did the date go?" 

Trowa shrugged. 

"Oh, come on! You've been grinning like a madman all night!" 

"I did _not_ grin, not once." 

"Well, for _you_, that was a big, Cheshire-cat-like grin. Spill, Trowa!" 

He looked to Quatre for support, finding none whatsoever. He rolled his eyes. "You two are going to pester me until I tell you all about it, aren't you?" 

Catherine laughed. "Why, sure, little brother. That's what meddling big sisters and friends who really care do." 

Trowa sighed, shook his head. "Okay, okay. I'll tell you - but I'd really like to get something to eat first." 

"It's settled, then - we'll go change, and you'll both come to my trailer in, say fifteen minutes, for supper? Or were you too busy on your date to get dinner, Trowa?" 

A faint, single chuckle and another dejected head-shake. "We'll talk over food." With that, he left for his trailer. 

Catherine followed him out the staging area with her eyes, turning to Quatre the second Trowa was out of sight - and hearing range. "Looks like he had a good time, Quatre," she near-whispered. "Are you sure you'll be able to handle-" 

Quatre held up his flat palm to stop her. "I told you before, I want him to be happy, above all else. I'd love for him to be happy with _me_, but I can't get everything I wish for, can I?" 

She shrugged. "I don't know, Quatre. I don't think that's too much to wish for - but if he's happy with that Melissa girl, we shouldn't interfere." 

He sighed, nodded. "You're right. We won't do that. I still want to confess my true feelings to him, but..." He shook his head. "I won't do that as long as I think it'd hurt him." 

Catherine placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're a nice guy, Quatre. But you know the saying." 

Chuckle. "Yeah, looks like I'll be finishing last." 

Playful grin. "Well, better late than never, right?" 

Short-lived laughter. "Yeah, probably." 

She nodded. "Okay, I'll head back for my trailer now, and get out of this thing - I think I'll make something not _quite_ so tight-fitting next time I expand the costume wardrobe. I can barely _breathe_ in this getup." She smiled, and headed for the exit. "See you soon, Quatre." 

------- 

Quatre had walked back to his half-a-trailer residence, grabbed a washcloth and went for the shared bathroom, moistened the cloth and wiped his face, as if the cool wetness would clear his mind as much as his face. He opened his half of the bathroom cabinet and picked up a hairbrush, giving his blond locks a few, quick sweeps. Then, he stopped, and glared first at the brush, then at the wet cloth deposited next to the sink. The brush went down next to the cloth, and Quatre rubbed his eyes. He leant in across the counter, studying his reflection in the mirrors of the cabinet doors, cursing himself for being so overly nervous about appearances when he had so little to worry about - he hoped. 

Right about then, he got a reminder he'd forgotten to lock the other door of the shared bathroom when Sylphie came in, busy straightening her dark red skirt when she noticed him. "Oh, sorry, Quatre. Didn't know you were in here - the door was unlocked." 

He sighed, mustered a smile and put the brush back in the cabinet. "That's okay, I'm done." 

She nodded, warm grin as always plastered across her face. "Say, what are you doing here freshening up, son? Have you gotten yourself a date, too?" 

Chuckle. "No. I'm just heading over to Catherine for supper." 

"Aaaah..." The way she elongated and made a hill of an intonation of the vowel, made Quatre sigh and turn to her with a gentle glare. "Well, she's a nice, young woman. I'm sure you two would-" 

"Look, we're just friends. It's just a meal. Trowa's coming too." 

Still grinning, she nodded. "Well, that almost goes without saying, doesn't it? You can't split the Bloom siblings apart even if you tried." Slight chuckle. "But I'm sure Trowa would give you his blessings, if-" 

Quatre closed the cabinet abruptly, nearly slamming the door. "Friends, Sylphie. That's all. We're not like you and Joseph." 

Another chuckle. "If you say so, son - but it never hurts to have someone to love, and be loved back by." 

Quatre didn't argue _that_ statement, but decided not to say anything that could give Sylphie the wrong ideas. He suspected he'd already made another rumor to her ever-growing pool, or at least reinforced an old one. "I'm done. Have a good evening, Sylphie." He went out his bathroom door, and closed it. 

"Same to you, Quatre." The door closed. "Same to you..." she whispered to herself, and sighed. "Youth shouldn't be wasted by insecurity, young man," she told the mirror, as if it would relay her words to Quatre later. "My eyes might not be young anymore, but I'm not blind - I've seen where your heart lies, Quatre..." 

------- 

Trowa had already shown up by the time Quatre entered Catherine's trailer. The two siblings Bloom were seated by the table section at the end of the trailer, Trowa busy munching on a few sandwiches Catherine had made. She was nibbling on one too, though it was fairly evident she did it more as a means to pass time than to still hunger. A pitcher with water and three glasses were also placed on the table, next to the plate of assorted sandwiches. Quatre felt an urge to sit down next to Trowa, but fought it - especially as Catherine tapped the space next to her. It would appear she wanted both the interrogators on one side, and their hapless victim on the other. Quatre complied. 

Catherine finished her sandwich, and leant in across the table. "Well?" 

Trowa looked up to meet her over-eager eyes. He put what was left of his sandwich down, poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher and took a sip. He smirked, just barely. "For starters, I think you should add some peppers or something on your cheese sandwiches, Cathy - and these with-" 

She made a playful punch to his elbow. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Now, come on. Tell us what happened, _everything_ that happened. Got that?" 

Trowa half-grinned, nodded. "Yeah, got it." He paused. "Well, there really isn't that much to tell..." 

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Okay, let's start at the beginning. Where did you go when you left here? What did you do?" 

Shrug. "We just walked, at first. I know _I_ didn't have any destination in mind, not sure if Melissa had. Anyway, we ended up at the library a few blocks from here." 

"You went on a date to the _library_?" 

He smiled. "Turned out that was one of her favorite places, actually. She guided me down the aisles, pointed out her favorite books and authors... We argued a bit over some of the titles, and I tried to find some of the few books I remembered reading, but mostly, she just led me down along the bookshelves." 

Catherine leant back, grinning. "A library..." She shook her head in disbelief. 

"There's nothing wrong with going to the library, even for a date," Quatre cut in. "It's a quiet place, good for reflection, thought and silent discussion - and it sounds like you found out something about Melissa through her choices of books - right?" 

Trowa nodded. "She's nice enough. Don't know if she deliberately avoided any particular books to appear more shy or innocent than she is, but she didn't seem the type to be deceitful - unlike you, sister dear." 

She rolled her eyes, clasped her forehead with the back of one hand, let the other cover her heart, and made as much a mockery of a dying prima donna as she could. "Oh, the _anguish_... Why _do_ thee hurt me so?" 

Quatre chuckled, Trowa near grinned. 

Normalcy returning. "But seriously - back to business. Where did you go next? What's Melissa like?" Smirk. "Did you do anything that you shouldn't have?" 

Trowa sighed. "We didn't really go anywhere else. We just browsed the library for hours, sharing bits and pieces of our minds as we walked." 

"You mean you didn't even take the poor girl out to eat?" 

Another shrug. "We never got around to it, I guess. I asked if she wanted to go for something to eat before we got to the library, but she just shook her head and said she wasn't hungry. While we were at the library, she didn't mention anything about eating, and I never really got hungry. I wouldn't have noticed the time if she hadn't told me - had to hurry back here in time for the show." 

Catherine grinned, sighed and shook her head. "Poor Melissa. She must have been starving..." 

Faint smirk. "Not everybody are as gluttonous as you, Cathy." 

Another mild punch went across the table. "You know damn well I watch my figure _very_ carefully, thank you very much." 

Trowa shot Quatre a glance. "Did I tell you about the last time Cathy baked a three-layered chocolate cake? She-" 

He was cut short when Catherine stuffed the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth. "And that's all you'll say about _that_, Trowa. Now, more details about your date, please." 

He coughed a bit, chewed and swallowed the remains of the mangled sandwich, before taking another sip of water to clear his throat. "I don't think I will." 

"Oh, come _on_. You have to have _something_ to tell us?" 

"What Melissa and I discussed is between us. I'm not going to tell you anything, sis." 

She groaned, rolled her eyes again. "Okay, tell me this - did you enjoy the day?" 

He half-smiled, nodded. 

"Okay, I can live with that - for now..." She paused, shot a brief glance at Quatre before glaring her brother in the eye again. "So, you're going to see her again, right?" 

Trowa shrugged. "I guess so... She said there was a small park somewhere nearby she'd like to show me. I was planning to check when I had free time, and get back to her." 

Mildly amused grin. "So, she gave you her number?" 

Nod. 

Cathy got that look that reminded Quatre of impending impaling rapiers again - though the repeating addition of playful eyebrows countered the menacing look. "Think you'll need a chaperone next time?" 

Trowa rolled his eyes, letting one slight chuckle escape. 

"I take that as a 'no'?" 

"No, Cathy. Take that as a 'No meddling sisters allowed to stalk us'." He smirked, got up. "I think I'll get some sleep now. Have to get up really early tomorrow, to inspect all the damage you two did to my chores." The other two glared at him. "Seriously - Thanks, you two. You were right about me needing to get out more... I've had a pretty good day." With that, he slipped out the door. 

As the sound of Trowa's footsteps faded, Quatre let his smile fall into a selfish sigh. Catherine immediately put an arm around his shoulders. She smiled faintly, trying to be as sympathetic as possible. "Sounds like he's getting better, Quatre." 

Tentatively, Quatre nodded in agreement. 

She pulled him closer. "Look, don't give up hope, Quatre. Now that we know Trowa is at least capable of leaving the circus tent, not to mention hold a conversation on literature with a stranger, who knows where the limits go anymore?" 

He smiled, gave her a weary glance, tapped the hand she had placed on his right shoulder. "Thanks, Catherine. I'm just glad he had a good day." 

Catherine nodded. "Next thing you know, he'll be having a happy day with you, too. Give it time, Quatre." 

"Yeah... I just can't help but feel I'm doing something incredibly stupid here." 

Shrug. "Maybe... But maybe you're doing precisely the right thing, too. Trowa still needs our help, you know." 

He glared at her. "You're not planning to follow him on their next date, are you?" 

She just smirked, and gave a quick wink. 

Quatre shook his head, smiling. "I don't think I want to know..." 

Laughter. "No, I won't stalk them. Trowa's right, what's between them is their business - just like what's between me and you is our business, or like what is or isn't between you and Trowa is your business." She paused. "Mostly, anyway." 

Light chuckle. "I'm glad you're my ally and not my enemy, Catherine." 

"Oh, I don't know _that_... I just want to see people happy. Right now, I see one happy and one sad - but I don't want to see that swapped because of poor timing." 

Quatre nodded, understanding what she meant. "I won't tell him, not yet. If he finds happiness with Melissa, that'd be fine." 

"Well, there's more fish in the sea, right?" 

Soft snort. "That's like saying you should be happy with water because the store ran out of champagne. I love Trowa, Catherine - no-one else." 

She sighed, gave him a full hug. "Time heals everything, Quatre. Even unrequited love." 

He didn't argue. 

"We're not there yet, though," she near whispered. 

Again, he didn't argue, simply enjoyed the warm embrace. 

She loosened her grip. "Think you'll be okay?" 

A few, slow nods. "Yeah, I'll be fine." 

Soft smile. "You know, I rarely have trouble believing anything you say, Quatre - but that..." 

Return sunbeam. "If I ever find myself unable to handle it, I'll just leave. Right now, I just want to watch from a distance for a while. Is that okay?" 

She hugged him close again. "That's more than okay, Quatre. You know you're Trowa's best friend, and you're my friend too." 

Quatre lingered in her embrace for a little while, before the two parted for the night, without exchanging more than soothing smiles. Back in his cabin, Quatre soon found himself trying to sleep, though many a thought kept him awake - as did the snoring from the other half of the trailer, as well as the suddenly unbearably loud ticks of the old alarm clock. At least he had his 'blankie' for comfort, as the hours passed until he finally fell asleep. 

------- 

Two days later, Trowa had rearranged his duty roster enough to go out with Melissa again, taking advantage of a few old favors. The little imp tried to convince Quatre to follow them, to see just how well they got along. The black-clad one appeared to fade into dark green colors as he spoke, but went back to complete darkness as soon as the angel made sure Quatre stayed at the circus, tending to his duties. 

He had tried his best to remain happy for Trowa, rather than feel self-pity. At the very least, he had been partially successful, and buried the remainder in playing comforting melodies on his violin, in a concert for one. That worked, until he again remembered the duet of two years past, the memory that had made him come here in the first place. Now, his feelings of envy and desire had begun clouding his mind, though the angel did his best to clear them, occasionally even aided by the imp. The latter had no interest in Quatre falling apart, especially over a plan by his own devising. 

When Trowa returned hours later - in plenty of time for dinner, this time - the first thing Quatre noticed was that the brown-haired boy wasn't smiling, not even faintly. Instead, what looked like a mild expression of shock was painted across his face. The two creatures of conscience were quick to offer an equal number of scenarios, neither of which made Quatre happy. One was that something bad had happened, which would leave Trowa unhappy, the other was that something stunningly _good_ happened, which would leave himself with more of the hurtful, splitting emotions. Quatre shook his head, and opted to find out - which meant asking. He put the broom he'd been using to sweep the pavement outside the main entrance aside, and walked up to Trowa. 

"Uhm... Hi, Trowa." 

It took a second before Trowa even acknowledged him. "Huh? Oh, hi." 

Quatre grew slightly concerned. "Did something happen?" 

Trowa shrugged, faint smile showing. Quatre let a minute mental curse slip, thinking what he thought was the worst possible scenario - until the imp provided even more heart-breaking - and quite vivid - ones. Quatre disregarded them all. 

"Trowa?" 

"She hugged me..." 

Quatre brightened a bit. That wasn't so bad, and definitely far from what the imp had hinted at. "Oh, is that it? What, did she step on your toes while hugging you, or something? You looked a bit glum..." 

Smile to smirk. "No, it was fine, I was just - I was just taken by surprise, that's all. Didn't expect her to hug me." He shook his head. "I guess I just haven't gotten used to someone I barely know hugging me yet." 

Grin. "Well, a hug is a good thing, Trowa." 

"Maybe... It didn't feel like when Cathy or you hug me, though." 

Chuckle. "Well, there are many kinds of hugs, and most people have their own preferred types. Friends, family and lovers don't hug quite the same, either." He waited until he saw Trowa nod, acknowledging the words. "Plus, body shapes tend to change things too - You're still a fairly tall guy, compared to most people - And of course Catherine and I wouldn't hug the same." Quatre grinned. "She has a built-in natural 'bumper', after all." 

Snicker. "Yeah, guess you're right..." 

Quatre hesitated a bit. "So - did anything else happen during your little stroll in the park?" 

Vague smirk. "If something did, it would be between Melissa and me, Quatre." 

He nodded in agreement, at least finding some solace that the two hadn't come anywhere close to the impish scenarios still ringing in his ear. 

"I should get back to the trailer. Think I'll go for dinner _before_ the show today." Trowa took a few steps, before looking over his shoulder. "Oh, by the way - think you could come over to my trailer after the show? I've got something I'd like to talk to you about, if that's okay." 

Quatre smiled, nodded, watched Trowa leave. He had a vague feeling the moment of Trowa's revenge on him for his part in the date setup had come, though since Trowa didn't seem to mind that anymore... He shook his head. No, he didn't want to speculate. Whatever it was, he would know soon enough. With a sigh, he returned to the broom, again sweeping the entrance area free from the trash left behind by yesterday's visitors. He was glad Trowa was happy, though it was difficult to block out how the shoulder-imp suggested Trowa should be happy with him, rather than Melissa. The angel retorted on Quatre's behalf, reminding the dark one whose plan this had been in the first place. The imp just stuck his tongue out, before saying the plan was foolproof, in the long run, and that they would just have to wait for it to work. The angel rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to put aside the halo and give the imp an overly firm handshake to the face. Quatre sighed again, shook his head clear of the little play on his shoulders, and went back to work. 

------- 

Joseph had come to help Quatre and Sylphie close down the snacks booths that evening too. Evidently, the couple was in a hurry to sneak off somewhere. Quatre didn't pry into what and where. Instead, he went back to his own trailer-half, ate a hastily put together supper and psyched himself up to visit Trowa, hoping there wasn't some vindictive plan waiting for him there. 

The colony lights were dimming by the time he walked over to Trowa's trailer, and most of the staff had already retired for the evening. Nearly all the animals had settled down for the night, too - except Fang. The lion gave a low growl in warning as Quatre passed his cage. The blond boy tried his best to ignore it, tried not to be the least bit afraid - and failed. 

Soon enough, he was knocking at Trowa's door, throwing a glance or two over his shoulder towards the lion cage as he waited for an answer. The lock clicked, and the door opened. 

"Hi, Quatre - please, come in." 

With a nod, Quatre entered. Trowa closed the door behind him, locking it up again. Though it puzzled Quatre a bit, as Trowa normally only did that when alone, he didn't ask why. He took of his shoes and placed them next to the little wooden stool by the door. Trowa had sat down by the table at the end of the trailer, the dim light of the red-shaded lamp giving his face a vague coloring, unhindered by the other lights of the rolling residence. Quatre sat down in the couch on the other side of the table, and took note Trowa's fist was clutching something - the little, multicolored squishy toy ball he'd seen earlier. He smiled. 

"Holding on to memories again?" 

"Hm? Oh." Trowa let go of the ball, and put it aside on the table. "Sorry, I just like to-" His face became a tad more colored, unaided by the red lampshade. He shook his head. "Never mind." 

"Okay." Quatre didn't want to push. Still, the flat way he said that one word was, combined with his smile, enough to win Trowa's answer. The brown-haired one shot him a glance before glaring back into the table. 

"I - I just find comfort with that thing. Sounds silly, but-" He looked up. "Well, it helps. I don't get as nervous." 

"Oh? You have something to be nervous about, Trowa?" 

Trowa nodded. "I - Ever since Melissa hugged me, I've been wondering what if-" He stopped, started over. "I almost pushed her away when she did that, Quatre. I just didn't expect it, didn't have time to prepare for it mentally, and I nearly panicked. It wasn't that I didn't _like_ it, I just wasn't ready for anything like that to happen - and that got me thinking." 

Quatre still smiled, finding the faint red shade rather endearing. "About what?" 

An idle hand went for the rainbow ball again, and began kneading it repeatedly. "Training." 

Raised brow. "Training?" Quatre could feel the cogs of his brain kick into gear, halting at solution moments later. "Oh, you mean like us practicing hugs, like we did touches?" 

The red went just a bit more crimson as Trowa shook his head. "Not... exactly." 

Again, Quatre was puzzled. "Then what? What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?" 

"You _did_ say you'd help me with anything, right?" 

Quatre nodded. 

"Okay..." Trowa paused, gave the ball another squeeze. "I was wondering... If you could help me with kisses." 

Well, that little statement certainly made three sets of jaws drop to the floor on the other end of the table. The imp was the first to recover, jumping up and down and more or less screaming his little lungs out into Quatre's ear to go for it, in all possible ways he could think of phrasing it. The angel was a bit more reserved, but not by all that much, rapidly chanting words of encouragement into the other ear. The main man himself was still too dumbstruck to really pay either of them heed. "Ki- kisses?" 

Trowa nodded, face fully flushed now. "Well, she dared hug me - I'm not sure how I'd respond to her kissing me if I wasn't prepared for it. Plus, I've never really-" 

Abruptly, Quatre stood up, nearly ready to flee. "But - but Trowa, we're both- I mean, we're not - Why don't you ask Catherine, or use your wrists or hands for practice, or-" 

Head-shake. "I want to practice on a set of real lips, Quatre - to know what it really feels like. And Cathy? Are you crazy? For one thing, she's my sister - well, adopted, kinda - and then there's the fact she'd tease me to no end about it - and there aren't all that many people I'd trust enough to ask something like this. The last time someone kissed me was-" He stopped, not wanting to remember. "Look, I don't want to risk lashing out at Melissa if she... you know." 

Quatre took a few steps backwards towards the door, before remembering it was locked. "But-" 

Trowa got up, walked closer. "Quatre, I wouldn't have asked if I had problems with kissing you. You have lips, and so have I. Are there any other parts we really need for a kiss?" 

The two creatures of conscience were finally able to reach Quatre's mind, at least in part. Hell yes, he wanted to go along with this - but the kiss would be for all the wrong reasons, and - wait, did Trowa just say he didn't mind kissing another guy? A far corner of his mind let loose a significant cheer at that delightful little insight, the remainder trying to restrain him from doing anything to risk it all right away. 

Trowa still held the rainbow ball in his hand, nearly squeezing the stuffing out of it. "Forget I asked..." His voice was full of defeat. He turned around, and took a step towards the couch. 

That was all it took to make Quatre finally make up his mind. He grabbed Trowa's shoulder, spun him around, grabbed both of his cheeks and kissed him with all his might. Quatre had closed his eyes on contact, but he could nearly feel Trowa staring at him with saucers. He definitely felt quick, panicky pulses of air across his cheek. The angel did his best to make the eager blond ease up, struggling to keep both Quatre and the imp in check, finally succeeding. Quatre ended the kiss, and let go of Trowa's jaw line, taking a step back. He glared into the floor, uncertain of how Trowa would react, well on his way to a blush of his own. "I... I'm sorry, Trowa. I didn't mean to-" 

"No - no, that's okay. It's what I asked for, isn't it?" Trowa played with the rainbow ball in one hand, slowly wiped his lips with the back of the other, and near-smiled. "But... Do you really think she'd kiss me that hard?" 

Quatre gave a light chuckle. "Probably not." He paused, working up his nerve. Then he leant in, slowly, one hand sneaking round to the back of Trowa's neck, softly pushing for a slight head tilt. "She'd probably... kiss more... like... this..." Their lips barely graced at first. Quatre upped the stakes just a bit, turning the kiss a little firmer. The white-clad blue-eyed one kept the imp and his libido in check, waiting. But not for long - Quatre could feel Trowa lean into the kiss; kissing back. He grew a smile, though he didn't pull away, rather the opposite. He grew more daring, let the tip of his tongue out to lightly trace Trowa's upper lip - something he regretted when he felt Trowa pull back at the new touch, just a bit, before returning, even copying the move. Quatre felt his smile - among other things - grow, and felt disappointed when their lips parted soon after. Trowa smiled back, put his free hand on Quatre's shoulder. 

"I... I liked that, Quatre. Thank you." 

Quatre fought the urge to thank back, maybe more than that, knowing it'd sound much too suspicious. He'd promised Catherine not to tell, or do anything until he knew, and also not to spoil Trowa's happiness. This was for Trowa and Melissa, not himself, he remembered. He didn't notice his smile fade away, but Trowa did. The shoulder hand went to Quatre's jaw, gently motioning his face up to view. 

"Is something wrong, Quatre? I'm sorry I pushed you into this, but-" 

"Don't be," he quipped, "_please_. I didn't mind, honest. I kinda... liked... it too..." He looked away again, shy grin and cheeks going pink upon him. 

"Then... Maybe we could... try it one more time? You know, to be safe I got it?" 

Quatre nodded, angel and imp both struggling to make the movement not look so very, very eager to please. Trowa placed his free hand around Quatre's neck, mimicking the blond's earlier move, meeting no protest. They moved closer, Quatre put his arms around Trowa's back, feeling him tense at the touch at first, but slowly relaxing. Quatre felt his head being tilted, but didn't mind the slightest; he had already lost himself in Trowa's eyes, and barely noticed when their lips touched again. Nearly without thinking, he tightened his embrace around Trowa, though got no reaction from the tall boy, other than a little more pressure to his lips, which he gladly returned. 

It was right about then the imp whispered a few words, in all likelihood naughty ones, into the ears of the angel, getting a frown at first, though at his second attempt, a smirk and a nod. Together, they told Quatre of their little idea; another gamble, another risk. Quatre smiled at the plan, though his consciousness never really heard what his creations of conscience said. With a 'here goes nothing' thought, he let his hands snake down to Trowa's lower back, lift to only keep the wrists in contact. He crossed his fingers, and made a loose grab for Trowa's rear, barely really aware he was doing it. 

Trowa certainly noticed, though. The rainbow ball fell to the floor, his emerald eyes went bigger than saucers, and his mouth went agape - which Quatre exploited on near instinct, sending his tongue in to explore, sweeping across teeth, palate and tongue with great zeal. After a while, Trowa relaxed, no longer bothered by either intrusion of privacy, and let his own arms embrace Quatre - though he didn't let his hands wander quite as far south. On the face front, he sent his tongue to spar with Quatre's, pushing it back, returning the favor, at least partially. Trowa wasn't quite as daring, and ended his exploration quickly, as well as the kiss itself, only adding a last soft, grazing touch of lips to finish it all. 

Neither of them spoke. The angel and the imp had also grown very quiet, as out of breath and words to say as the kissing couple. Trowa was the first to get his tongue back in order. "I... That was - that was even better." 

Quatre just smiled in return. 

Sated smile became smirk on Trowa's face. "Still - do you really think Melissa would be that aggressive?" 

It was only then Quatre realized where his hands were, and he immediately let go, cursing himself for making such a move, and even more when he noticed his pants had grown just a little tighter. Blushing, he looked away, praying Trowa hadn't noticed. "Uhm... err... She _might_ do something like that... I mean, she _could_ be a forward person, once you get to know her a little bit - and some girls don't wait for the boy to start things - I mean-" 

Trowa chuckled, slowly letting Quatre loose from his lingering, lax embrace. "Maybe. I doubt she'd be quite that progressive..." Quatre's blush deepened a tad. "I still enjoyed the experience, though. Thank you, Quatre. I think I might be ready for - for whatever Melissa might do now." 

The words hurt; they stabbed at Quatre's overly sensitive heart. He knew it'd happen, knew these kisses weren't for him, knew he was only helping a friend find balance - though the whole thing felt utterly bizarre. Why had Trowa asked _him_ about this? Yes, there was the trust thing, but still... 

The imp kicking his neck made him snap out of his thoughts, reminding him of the bliss he'd felt moments earlier, regardless of all other factors. It had felt really good - and _right_ - and Trowa said he enjoyed it, too. Only the cautioning of the white-feathered one kept him from spilling his heart out, and risk everything in hopes of Trowa wanting him over Melissa, or anyone else - but there was still his promise to Catherine to keep, as well as promises he had made to himself. He backed out of Trowa's grasp, though he kept a soft, somewhat deceitful smile. 

"I - Unless there's anything else you need help with, I think... I think I'll go back to my own trailer now, if that's okay..." 

Trowa's smile vanished. "I didn't offend you by making you do this, did I?" 

Quatre shook his head, bent down to put on his shoes. "No. No, it's okay, Trowa." The imp screamed in his ear it was _way_ more than okay, it was absolutely delightful; far beyond description. Quatre didn't dare relay that sentiment, though - the time wasn't right. 

"Oh." Faint grin returning. "Again, thank you. I think I know what to do now - how to deal with... things." Trowa walked over to the door, unlocking it. 

Quatre nodded, and went out into the night. He heard the door close slowly behind him, and the lock click in place again. He sighed, the warm linger of the kisses mingling with the falseness on which he felt they were based. A grin came across him when he remembered he'd gotten a good pawing done, too - hopefully without startling Trowa _too_ much - but damn, it had been satisfying. 

As night came, he had trouble sleeping, still trying to remember what Trowa's lips and, err, lower back had felt like. The green turtleneck was tightly wrapped in his arms when he finally fell asleep, a content smile on his lips. 

------- 

The next morning passed pretty much in a blur. Quatre had clean-up detail in the main tent; cleaning the seat rows, sweeping away the assorted junk gathering underneath the bleachers, and checking the sawdust in the ring for things that shouldn't be there - be it something left behind by one of the animals, or a piece of trash that had made its way there from the bleachers. The work was rather monotonous, and left his mind free to re-live the events of the eve prior over and over again. Occasionally, he paused, closed his eyes to recall the sensations even more. He sighed and resumed his work, but returned to daydreams intermittently. 

Just prior to lunch time, he was done with the main tent, and headed towards the equipment trailer to return the broom and dustpan, already having deposited the black plastic bag of assorted trash in the non-organic dumpster. The daydreams still lingered in his mind, especially a select few precious seconds. A grin grew on his face as he remembered the kisses, those delightful kisses... 

"What kisses?" 

Startled, he spun around to see Catherine standing behind him, warm smile in greeting. He remembered his last thoughts - had he said those out loud? 

"Yeah, you mumbled something about kisses, Quatre." 

Faint curse. At first, he could feel a chill as the color drained from his face, only to be replaced by a heat buildup in his cheeks, undoubtedly accompanied by crimson coloring. Quatre looked away, much to embarrassed. 

Catherine chuckled. "What's going on, Quatre? First you looked like a kid who'd found where his mother hid the cookie jar, now you look like you were caught by mommy with a hand in the jar." 

"Uhm, I - I was just talking, Catherine. It's nothing." 

"Oh, don't give me that - I'm not blind, Quatre - so, what about these kisses that put you in such a good mood?" 

Damage control. The words rang in his ear, courtesy of the imp, who were advocating for as best a cover-up as he could think of - which wasn't much. The angel shook his head, suggesting that being truthful was the wiser path in the long run - and also reminding the other two what had happened was only done on Trowa's request - it wasn't in violation of the deal Quatre and Catherine had made - was it? Almost out of habit, Quatre took the angel's advice. "I kissed Trowa," he mumbled. 

Catherine's mouth went agape, and it took a few seconds for the words to sink in - upon which her face shifted to a grim frown. "You did _what_?" She grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the equipment trailer, nearly threw Quatre inside and closed the door behind her. She grabbed his shoulders, shook him forcefully. "You kissed Trowa? Who _could_ you?! You said you weren't going to-" 

Quatre touched her elbows, and eased her to relent making him feel like a shaking rhythm instrument. "Catherine - please, let me explain." 

She let go, pushing him back a bit as she did so, and folded her arms. "Okay, I'm listening." 

"You have to promise you won't tell anyone, especially Trowa." 

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Fine, I won't tell. Now, _talk_!" 

He leant against one of the walls, putting his arms behind him as a buffer. He avoided eye contact. "Yesterday... Trowa asked me for help..." 

Brief concern. "Help? Was he hurt?" 

Quatre shook his head. "No, nothing like that - it was just that... See, Melissa had hugged him earlier, and he got a bit nervous because of that. He wanted to know if he could cope with kissing someone, without triggering flashbacks - you know which ones." 

Anger faded into mild surprise. "Come again? You're saying brother dearest wanted to learn how to kiss, and you ended up as his first choice?" 

Faint grin. "I argued against it too, believe it or not." 

She smirked. "Oh, I can imagine you fought long and hard against _that_ suggestion..." 

Sigh. "Look, I won't deny I... enjoyed... the experience, but it was what Trowa wanted to do. He wasn't sure if he could kiss Melissa - or be kissed by her, if she goes impulsive again - without remembering... Well, you know." 

She nodded, and let out a slight chuckle. "I guess you have your answer now, though." 

Quatre looked up, shook his head. "No. I mean, he didn't mind the idea of kissing me, if nobody knew - that doesn't mean he likes me that way." 

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Quatre, that's a puddle of poo bigger than what the elephants leave behind, and you know it. Did Trowa kiss you back?" 

He tried remembering. The way his eyes glazed over and the accompanying faint smirk was all Catherine needed. 

"I see he did. Quatre, he kissed you too, it wasn't one-sided." 

"Maybe... But that doesn't mean anything. He was probably picturing me as Melissa, and practicing for-" 

She threw her arms up. "Would you listen to yourself? Kisses aren't meaningless, Quatre!" 

Quatre pushed away from the wall, rubbed his eyes a bit. "I hope you're right, Catherine. I really do - but I just don't know, and I don't want to risk everything by blurting out-" 

Snicker. "Coward." 

"Hey, we agreed I wouldn't tell Trowa how I felt about him until we knew what the answer would be - until we knew it wouldn't just make him retreat more into himself, away from everyone. I don't want to chance that, I-" 

He was interrupted as Catherine hugged him tight. "You can be so silly sometimes... But I guess that's why you're so damn lovable too." 

"Catherine..." 

She relaxed the hug, put her hands on his shoulders. "So, how good a kisser was my brother, hm?" 

Sigh. "That's between him and me, Catherine - and I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this, okay? It was meant to be private." 

Chuckle. "Then you shouldn't have gone babbling about it out in the open." 

The blush returned, if less severe. 

Teasing grin. "I guess Trowa was _good_, since even the thought makes you faze out like that..." 

"Catherine!" 

Laughter. "You're so easy to tease, Quatre. Maybe you should ask Trowa to teach you indifference in return for your little kissing lessons, hm?" 

Another sigh. "Look, I don't think Trowa wants the world to know about those, okay? Could you _please_ keep your mouth shut about this - no, not just that, avoid hinting at it in any way, or doing a flat-out pantomime of the whole thing?" She opened her mouth to retort, but Quatre would have none of it. "Don't deny it, you'd be all too likely to do something like that." 

She put her arms akimbo, and smiled. "Well, I don't look _too_ bad in a black leotard, but it isn't quite my style." 

Quatre was growing more than a little annoyed, his voice clearly showing it, approaching a low grumble. "Catherine..." 

Chuckles. "Okay - I'll be good - on one condition." 

Groan. "What?" 

"That you do my laundry today. I was planning to do it during the lunch break, but-" 

He shook his head. "Catherine, I've never used a washboard to-" 

"Oh, I know. Not like I'd trust you to handle that, anyway. Look, a few days ago I spotted a Laundromat a block or so away. You can handle the machines, right?" 

Shrug. "I guess so. We had to use places like that occasionally, during the war." 

Grin. "Okay, then. I'll just hand you the bags of dirty clothes, and you handle the rest. Deal?" 

Sigh in defeat. "Deal..." 

"Excellent!" She reached for the door, and put her other hand in a firm lock around Quatre's wrist, dragging him over to her trailer. 

------- 

Quatre hadn't been too happy about the prospect of missing lunch. After changing out of the work 'disguise' of turtleneck and jeans back to his far more comfortable outfit of white shirt, vest and beige pants, he'd picked up the bags of laundry and headed out. He had dropped by a bakery on the way to the Laundromat, getting himself a small bag of buns, a few Danishes and a soda. The customers had eyed him oddly - not that he could blame them, since he was carrying two rather sizable black plastic bags containing Catherine's extensive laundry. 

It took him a while to find the Laundromat, as it was hidden away down an alleyway from the street Catherine had mentioned. The minor worry that he'd be late returning if there was a crowd there, was quickly swept away by the nearly abandoned shop. An elderly lady looked up from her knitting as he entered, though she seemed a bit baffled by the sheer amount of laundry the young man had brought. Quatre softly smiled in return, dumped the bags in front of one of the available washing machines, and put the lunch bag over on one of the cheap, green plastic seats nearby. He opened one of the big black bags, and started tossing the load inside the washing machine. He judged he would need to occupy at least four machines with this load, if not more. A quick wallet check ensured he had enough change. 

Once the first machine was filled, he closed the door, dug into the other bag for the bottles of detergent and fabric softener Catherine had told him to use, and applied those as well, before adding the dimes and starting the contraption, moving on to the next. By the fourth machine, the odd stares of the old lady combined with the low grumbles and mutterings of the imp in his ear lit his desire to get even with Catherine, the master extortionist. Detecting danger, the angel at first scratched his brown bangs in contemplation, trying to figure out the best way to intervene. In the end, he tried reminding the other two of how helpful Catherine had been - and she'd been far from dismissive, quite the opposite. What would the point be of getting even be? 

The imp got to his feet and turned to glare at the angel, braided brown mane momentarily lashing out like a tail behind him. With great conviction, he retorted that Catherine would probably continue pushing for these slight favors until either Quatre caved in and let her tell someone - most likely Trowa - how he really felt, or until Quatre began responding in kind. Quatre let his frustrations get the better of him. He took one look at the washing machine he'd just filled with all whites. Then, he glanced over at a glaring deep red sweater that stuck out of the remainder of laundry, scheduled to fill the fifth and hopefully last machine. He smirked, grabbed it, tossed it inside, and started the machine before he could feel guilty. Well, the whites and the sweater _had_ been in the same plastic bag, so he _could_ have made the honest mistake of not detecting it in time - maybe it was wrapped inside one of the white bed sheets? The elderly lady again shot him an odd stare when he began snickering like a devious madman. Quatre didn't notice, and filled up the last machine, at last free to concentrate on his previously bought lunch. 

Watching the clothes tumble wasn't particularly entertaining. The knitting of the senior citizen wasn't of interest either, so Quatre ended up turning the plastic chair around to look out the window, study the light traffic that went up and down the little side alley. He was nibbling on the last dry bun, trying to wash it down with the final gulp of his soda, when he saw a familiar face stroll past on the other side of the small street - Trowa. Immediately, Quatre straightened up, and watched his friend, his permanent crush, walk out of view. He noted the faint smirk, as well as the direction he was heading - towards the library. Quatre sighed, slumped. It was easy enough to guess Trowa had gotten the afternoon off again, and whom he was going to spend it with. For a short, selfish moment, he wanted to tell Trowa everything, lay everything out in the open, damn the consequences - but the thought it would only ruin the happiness Trowa had evidently found with Melissa cut all such ideas short. Maybe Catherine was right, maybe he should just tell and see what happened - but he didn't want to hurt Trowa, and he most certainly wouldn't want to destroy all the efforts that Trowa had made to become more of an extrovert. He shook his head, tried to clear his head. The first washing machine gave a high-pitched clink, and called him back to the task at hand. 

------- 

Quatre had dumped the two big bags of done laundry outside Catherine's trailer. He didn't want to be there when she noticed some of her whites weren't quite so sparkling bright anymore. Instead, he went back to his chores, the imp congratulating him on a prank well done, the angel merely giving a grunt in lax opposition. 

He spotted Trowa returning from his trip to the city just before dinner time. Much too curious, Quatre had walked over and asked if he'd had a pleasant day, who he had been with, what he'd done. To each and every question, Trowa just shrugged, and faintly smirked - though it widened just a bit at the last one. Quatre had walked away shaking his head, smiling outward, but screaming of envy inward. Still, he was determined not to let dark emotions get the better of him; _he_ had set up the current game board, staged the pieces into position. All that was left, was to play it through - and hope for a victory, or at the very least a satisfying draw. 

Dinner was a hastily put-together affair of 'only-needs-water-and-heating' products. Immediately following that was his tour of duty in the popcorn booth. Trowa maintained the cotton candy stand, as he usually did. Quatre could see he was a lot better with the customers now, nearly making idle conversation with a few of them, and he even shook the hand of a toddler that had seen the show a few nights earlier, but had tricked his parents into another visit. The young lad brightened at shaking Trowa's hand, asking if he was afraid when the knives came at him, or when he played with the lions, or when he was high up in the trapezes. Trowa had smiled, and replied the only time he was afraid, was when the other clowns made changes in the program and went after _him_ with the cream pies. The kid had laughed. Quatre had smiled. At least _some_ things were going just as they should. 

Even so, whenever he snuck a glance at Trowa in the small gaps in customers, the brown-haired boy had smirked back; nothing faint about it at all. It was as if he was still answering the questions Quatre had asked earlier, not needing words. More than once, Quatre opened his mouth, about to ask again, only to be met with the clear smirk, which always derailed his train of thought. Catherine had hurried by at one point, and Quatre had taken a step away from the counter in fear of a possible retribution. None came. Puzzled, Quatre shrugged, assuming she hadn't noticed his little stunt yet. 

Soon enough, the show started, and Sylphie closed the ticket stand to take over for Trowa, leaving Quatre to draw his own conclusions on the questions. After the break in the show, Joseph arrived, trying to hid a dark green bottle behind his back. Putting it down out of Sylphie's view, he offered to take over the closing of the popcorn booth. Quatre accepted it nearly right away, and decided to take a walk to clear his mind. He was already in the tiny nearby park when he remembered he was on a colony; recycled air, artificial lighting... Not the kind of night he had been able to lose himself in when he was on Earth. He sighed, intent on making the best of it, and as the lights high above darkened, at the same time lowering the temperature slightly, he was pacing back and forth through the nearly empty park, before he finally slumped down on a bench in the center of the little green lung, and simply sat there, deep in thoughts of nothing at all. 

------- 

Quatre had lost all track of time by the time he returned to the paved circus lot. No decisions or conclusions had really been made, other than that he still wanted to do what he thought was best for Trowa - and right now, that was to keep his friend happy, and socializing. 

He looked up at the colony ceiling - not that it was very visible, now that the lights up there were at their dimmest, shrouding the entire cityscape in shadows. The air had cooled, though he knew it wouldn't drop beyond the comfort zone. Being able to control the climate rather precisely had made some colony citizens spoiled, and anything but minor variations and the occasional light rain shower usually led to complaints. 

The lamps in the colony streets had lit up to further the illusion they might as well be in any city on Earth - though that illusion was easily shattered. All one had to do, was look towards the horizon, and see that instead of disappearing downward, it came up at you, and disappeared somewhere up the never-ending hill of the spinning wheel-like structure that made up the colony. 

Some of the city buildings also had lights in the windows, and down a few streets, signs in bright neon glared. In the circus camp, most of the trailers were dark, curtains drawn for the night. He headed for his own trailer-half, intent on trying to get some sleep, and leave his worries behind by fleeing into his dreams. 

As he turned the corner of the neighboring residence trailer, he caught sight of his trailer - though something wasn't quite right. His half was dark, of course, though the curtains weren't drawn. Joseph's half, on the other hand, was clearly lit up, and he could hear noises. It took a while for him to notice the trailer was also in quite vivid motion. He heard laughter - the hearty chuckles sounded very much like Sylphie's. The deeper snickering had to be Joseph. 

The imp was quick to whisper one possible scenario, reminding Quatre of the bottle they had seen earlier - one that looked remarkably like a wine or champagne bottle of some sort. The blond boy blushed. 

From within the trailer, Sylphie laughed again. "You wicked, wicked man. Why did you put your hand _there_?" 

Dark chuckle. "Oh, you know perfectly well why. I'm going for the prize, dearie." 

More laughter. "Going to show you're still as agile an acrobat as you were two decades ago, are you?" The trailer shook again. Quatre's coloring deepened. 

Briefly, he considered sneaking into his trailer-half. Most likely, the other two had thought he was asleep before they had started... well, _whatever_ they were doing. Quatre shook his head; some mental images were just not worth it. The trailer moved again, more snickers. Quatre turned and walked away. He did not want to try to sleep in a trailer that acted like a ship on sea with a couple of noisy newlyweds in the cabin next door. 

Walking without aim, he ended up in the corner reserved for the animal trailers. Most of the beasts were asleep too. Fang was breathing heavily inside his cage, though Quatre could have sworn he saw the lion's snout twitch as he walked past. Startled, he took a quick side-step. Fang didn't make any more sudden moves, though. Maybe Quatre's scent wasn't that much of interest to the king of beasts anymore. 

Quatre continued his walk, soon enough passing Trowa's trailer, placed between most of the residence trailers and the animal pens. The lights were still on, despite the late hour. Thinking it curious, Quatre went to check. He couldn't see Trowa through any of the windows - but most of the curtains were drawn, so all he was likely to see, would be dancing shadows. Still, there were none of those, either - no movement. 

For a moment, he wondered if Trowa slept with the lights on - but that seemed unlikely. Without really being aware of it, he walked closer, and soon enough, he stood on the stairs outside the door. He got ready to knock the door, hesitated for a moment, but finally made his knuckles impact the door, three rapid knocks. No answer came. He knocked again. Still no answer. He put his ear to the door, but heard nothing. "Trowa?" he whispered, but nothing. He glanced down at the door handle and went for it, surprised to find the door was unlocked. Only one time he could remember, had Trowa not locked that door; the one time he - perhaps just subconsciously - wanted someone to follow, to come inside. Tentatively, Quatre stepped in, took off his shoes and gently closed the door behind him. "Trowa?" he whispered again, but there was only silence, and- 

He recognized the vague trickles of running water, recognizing the source as the tiny bathroom lodged into a separate side compartment of the trailer. Part of the mystery solved. Then, the shower was turned off. Quatre remembered where he was, and despite his mind trying to tell his body to commit a hasty retreat, lest he be seen, he remain frozen in place. The door opened, and out stepped Trowa, dressed in only a towel - though it was covering the wrong flaccid 'poker', as clown-boy tried to get his unibang dry. 

Quatre's mouth went agape, before his modesty kicked in and made him turn, blushing furiously at the side-view sneak-peak. 

Trowa heard the noise, and peaked out from the towel, seeing Quatre's back. "Quatre?" 

"I'm sorry - I'm so sorry - I didn't know - I'll just leave, and-" 

Nervous chuckle. "No, that's okay, stay - but lock the door, would you?" 

Quatre did as he was told, but remained there, eyes locked on the door's threshold, cheeks fully flushed. "I'm really sorry, Trowa - I didn't mean to barge in on you like this, it's just that I saw the lights were on, and-" 

Trowa grabbed a second towel, the first draped across his shoulders, and dried himself off as quickly as he could. "I told you, it's alright. Just let me find some clothes, okay?" 

Quatre nodded. He fought the urge to sneak another glance, already much too embarrassed by the little incident. The two shoulder companions were another matter - the imp was on hands and knees, ogling Trowa's rear as he bent down to search a drawer for a pair of boxers. The dark one was practically drooling, and had a wolfish, devouring look in his purplish eyes. On the other shoulder, the angel stood where he had turned. Wings had spun around faster than Quatre had - only to be faced with temptation again, when Quatre followed suit. Though he had covered his face with his hands immediately, the minute brown-haired being couldn't resist spreading his fingers apart, just a little, for his round blue orbs to grow a wee bit less innocent. Quatre could vaguely hear the howls of the imp, and struggled just as hard not to grin as to not spin around and tackle Trowa right then and there, not to waste the opportunity. The angel noticed his thoughts however, and immediately tapped Quatre's shoulder and cleared his throat, stating his disapproval. Quatre grew a sheepish grin, before snapping back to reality. "Are you decent?" 

"One sec," he heard a muffled voice say. "Yeah." 

He turned around just in time to see a bright green T-shirt fall across Trowa's stomach, falling a bit over dark blue boxers, one towel around his shoulders, his moist bang draped across half his face. Quatre suppressed a snicker at the sight of the flat hair, but smirked nevertheless. 

"What's so funny?" 

"Oh, nothing - It's just I've never seen your hair so, uhm, relaxed." 

Trowa snorted, half-smirked back. He used the towel to dry out his ears, and sat down at the edge the sofa-group-gone-bed at the end of the trailer. He patted the area right next to him. Quatre hesitated. Trowa faintly grinned. "I don't bite, you know..." 

Quatre chuckled nervously, and sat down next to Trowa, feeling entirely too awkward about sitting so close to a half-dressed Trowa, though also quite happy about the same. 

"...not much." Trowa whispered in his ear. 

A bit startled, Quatre turned to face his grinning friend. 

"Sorry, I guess I've been around Cathy too much." Awkward pause. "So, why are you here, Quatre?" 

"I noticed the lights were still on, but I didn't see you, so I wondered where you were, and-" 

Disarming smile. "Yeah, you stuttered as much earlier. I mean, why are you out walking at this hour? It _is_ a bit late." 

"Oh - Well..." Quatre looked away, hands in his lap growing a bit restless, and soon enough engaged in mild thumb twiddling. "You see... I went out for a walk - to clear my head, mostly. Evenings and nights can be good for that." 

"And you just happened by here on your way back?" 

Quatre shook his head, before he tried to explain the 'home situation' with the shaking trailer and all. He felt as if the awkwardness grew with every word he said - but so did Trowa's smile. 

"Oh..." Trowa snickered faintly. "Well, I don't blame you for wanting to take an extended walk, in that case." 

Quatre nodded, his face still slightly colored. "Why was the door open, Trowa? Don't you always lock it when you're alone?" 

Another nod. "Yeah, I always lock the door, makes me feel safer. I didn't lock it because - oh, that's right." Trowa stood up, walked over to a small plastic bag deposited behind the door. Quatre surmised he had missed it earlier. 

"What's that?" 

Trowa took the bag, placed it on the counter, looked inside and took a few items out to fold properly, before they got too crumpled. "The reason the door was unlocked. Cathy did some laundry for me, and she said she'd bring it back tonight. I waited for her to show up, but had to take a shower, so I left the door open for her to just dump it here. Figured I could cope with that much." Trowa reached inside the bag again, and pulled out another item. "Hrm... That's odd." In his hand he held a formerly white, now pink T-shirt. 

Quatre's jaw drooped a bit, and his face turned the same color as the T-shirt. As the angel immediately reminded him; all bad deeds done will come back to haunt you, sooner or later. Shameful, he glared into the floor. 

"I have to talk to sis about this. It isn't like her to-" 

"That's... That's not necessary, Trowa. It's my fault." 

Trowa stared at him, and flagged an eyebrow. 

Quatre fumbled with the words, twiddling his thumbs even faster. "You see... Catherine sort of tricked me into doing the laundry for her, and I wanted to get even, so I... tucked a red sweater in with the whites." He looked up. "I'm really sorry, Trowa - I didn't know she was doing your laundry too." He shook his head, looked away again. "I should have known, though - she doesn't have _that_ many clothes..." 

At first, he heard a muffled snicker, which steadily progressed into hearty laughter - and a bit beyond. Quatre glared up, treated the rare sight of Trowa in a genuine belly laugh. Trowa paused for a moment, saw Quatre's puzzled expression, and laughed a little more before calming down to a smirk. 

The thumb twiddle stopped, and Quatre but both hands on the side of the bed, making sure to avoid eye contact again. "I'm really, really sorry, Trowa - I didn't mean to-" 

Trowa wiped his eyes. "It's okay, Quatre. Really. I know how annoying Cathy can be sometimes. I'm sure she got what she deserved." 

Quatre didn't look up. "I sorry you got caught in the cross-fire. I'm sure she's already plotting her revenge..." 

Grin and a nod. "Could be. I guess she's just as happy you did this. I've seen in her eyes that she wanted to get even with me for flagging her undies." 

The blush at last began fading, though the sense of shame did not. "I'm so sorry, Trowa." 

Another chuckle. "Quit beating yourself up about this, Quatre. It was a pretty good trick. It's good to see you loosen up enough to pull a stunt worthy of Duo." 

Quatre dared a vague smile. "Yeah... Well, I should probably go back to my own trailer." 

Trowa folded away the last item of the black plastic bag, and came back to sit next to Quatre. "Think they're still at it?" 

Grimace. "I hope not. I was hoping to get a decent night's sleep." 

Trowa shrugged. "You can sleep here, if you want." 

Startled, Quatre near gawked at him, jaw loose, mild panic attack commencing. "I - no, I couldn't do that, I-" 

Another shrug. "I wouldn't mind." 

"A - Are you sure?" The panic was close to making Quatre just jump up and run away - despite how both the angel and imp tried to nail him to the bed he was sitting on; they had gotten the picture already, though Quatre had not. When Trowa placed his hand over Quatre's, panic won. Quatre abruptly got up and took a few steps away, ready to flee. 

Trowa leant a bit forward, hands folded. "Quatre, something wrong?" 

"No, it's just that- It's just..." He turned to face Trowa. "I can't sleep here, Trowa. It wouldn't feel right." 

"Why?" 

Quatre bit his lip. He really didn't want to explain that bit, but he didn't want to lie about it either. The two creations of conscience spoke with one, clear voice, though - it was time to confess, a lie at this point could only mess things up. Reluctantly, Quatre agreed with them. "Because - because I... I really care about you." 

Faint smirk. "I know." 

"Huh?" 

"I know, Quatre. I think I know just how you feel about me." 

Quatre's expression was as good as any question mark. "What do you mean?" 

Chuckle. "I know you've got a crush on me, Quatre. Don't deny it." 

The blush returned. "I - I won't..." 

Smile, nod. 

"H - How did you-" 

"How did I know, Quatre?" Nod in reply. "Well, by noticing little things, at first. The occasional stare you threw my way when you thought I wasn't looking, how you reacted that time I licked the candy fluff from your hand - stuff like that. I figured-" He paused, shook his head. "No, _hoped_ you weren't here just for business studies, like you said. I got really uncertain again when you pushed me into the date with Melissa. That's partly the reason I asked for your help with touches - I wanted to test your reactions." He smirked. "I got my hopes up again when I saw my old turtleneck wrapped in your bed sheets." 

Quatre looked away, embarrassed. 

"The kisses yesterday was what really convinced me my hunch that you were interested was right, though." 

The shade of red certainly didn't lessen by that statement. Tentatively, Quatre tried facing Trowa's eyes again. "T - Trowa, do you-" 

With a warm smile, Trowa nodded. "Yeah, I like you too, Quatre. You think I would have let you kiss me otherwise, much less grope my butt and get away with it?" 

Quatre lightened up a bit, insides growing much too warm and fuzzy, before other thoughts hit him. "Then why didn't you _tell_ me? You said you were convinced how I felt about you yesterday, and-" 

Chuckle. "Yeah, I know... I think I wanted to string you along for a while. I wanted to get even with you for Melissa, for interfering in my life, when I had told you and Cathy not to." He shrugged. "I _was_ going to tell you tomorrow... Or the day after that, maybe..." 

"But - I saw you when you walked past the Laundromat earlier today. Didn't you go on a date with Melissa?" 

Trowa smirked, shook his head. "No." 

Quatre's face made a puzzled frown. 

Trowa stared ahead of him. "She's a nice girl, and we had a good time that day in the library. Turned out she was pushed into the date too. Her friends dared her to ask me, and she had half-expected me to say no. She liked me, but she didn't want a boyfriend as much as a friend - someone to talk to about things that didn't really interest her girlfriends." He paused, shot Quatre a glance. "I might not be the greatest of conversationalists, but I think I make a good listener." 

Nod in agreement. "You do." 

"Anyway, she told me all of this the day we walked in the park. She also said she thought I wasn't interested in her. At first, I almost denied it, just to let her down easy, but she saw right through me, gave me a quick hug and told me to go after whoever I loved." Trowa paused, reached out for Quatre's hands, softly using his thumbs to rub in gentle circles on the back of either, coaxing Quatre back towards the bedside. "That's why I went to the library yesterday - to talk to her about it, tell her I was going to follow her advice." 

Quatre let himself be drawn closer, sat down next to Trowa again, hands still in his. He turned the tables, twisting his hands so that he was the one caressing Trowa's. Tentatively, he leant in closer, blush still fading, heart racing. He lifted one hand to brush the still moist bang draped across Trowa's face aside, before grazing across a cheek and behind a neck. Trowa smiled at him, came closer to meet him half-way, tilting his head a bit as he approached. The first touch of lips was light, short-lived. Quatre attacked anew, with just a bit more force, but he paused, waited for Trowa to answer, wanting to know if this was something Trowa wanted too. It evidently was, the way his lips pushed closer. 

How long they kissed, Quatre lost all track of. He barely even registered when Trowa broke the kiss. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, were Trowa's emeralds smiling back at him. A sheepish grin came across Quatre. 

"So... do you want to sleep here tonight?" 

It took Quatre a moment to remember why he'd come to Trowa's trailer in the first place. Bliss gave way to a groan. "Right... I completely forgot about that." 

Smirk. "That's not an answer." 

"Sure it's okay?" 

Nod. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise, Quatre." 

Warm smile. "I'd love to... But I don't have any pajamas with me." 

Trowa grinned, wiggled his eyebrows slightly. "Do you need any?" 

Mild surprise, deep blush. 

Gentle snicker. "I don't have any pajamas you could borrow, though. I usually sleep like this. Can't you sleep in your underwear?" 

Quatre smiled into a gentle sigh, and tugged on his shirt collar. 

Trowa nodded, understanding what Quatre was getting at. That shirt wouldn't make a good nightshirt, and its state in the morning would be anything but neat. Trowa dismissed the thought to suggest Quatre just sleep without one, sensing the blond would be uncomfortable without little more than the slightest of coverage. Trowa removed the damp towel from his shoulders and dropped it off the end of the bed, got up and walked over to the piles of folded clothes. He searched around in the stacks before he with a triumphant grin pulled out the white-gone-pink T-shirt from earlier, dangling it for Quatre to notice as he brought it over. 

Quatre frowned, but snatched the T-shirt from Trowa anyway. "Thanks..." he mumbled. He could hear both angel and imp snicker, seeking support in each other not to fall over in laughter. Trowa went over to turn off the main lights of the trailer just as Quatre got up, fingers at the top shirt button. "Uhm... Trowa?" 

Trowa turned around, flipped the switch. "Yeah?" 

Quatre felt stupid for asking, but had to make sure. He didn't want Trowa to think he was going to take advantage of the situation. "Just sleep, right? No funny business?" 

Chuckle. "No funny business, Quatre." 

Nod, nervous smile. "O - okay." He unbuttoned the top three buttons before he took off his vest, putting it on a small wicker chair placed between the made bed and a closet. He unbuttoned his sleeves, and took off his socks. Trowa snuck past him as Quatre undid the last few shirt buttons. Quatre could have sworn he felt fingers graze across his stomach, but it happened too fast for him to be certain. 

He reached for his zipper, but halted. He felt really odd and uneasy about undressing in front of Trowa, but - after a second of thought - figured it didn't matter anymore. Plus, Trowa had sat there in his underwear all evening, not to mention Quatre had gotten quite the glimpse earlier. It was only fair for him to return that favor, wasn't it? 

Pants and shirt followed the vest and socks, and he put on the pink T-shirt. It was a little big, but Quatre didn't complain about that, far from it. 

Trowa was already crawling up into the bed when Quatre turned to see if he'd been watched. He assumed he had been, judging from the way Trowa was smirking. "Kill the switch by the bathroom door, would you?" 

Quatre complied, and the trailer went dark, except for the little lamp with the red shade still shining above Trowa's head. Trowa tapped his hand on the bed. With a grin, Quatre crawled into the 'red light district' of the trailer, and settled down next to Trowa, pulling a sheet over them both. The back of his head had barely made contact with a pillow before Trowa turned over, curling up on his side, placing his head on Quatre's chest, an arm across his stomach and a leg across his thigh, snaking back under his knee. Instantly, Quatre felt blood stream to his cheeks - among other places. That felt awkward enough, not to mention how difficult it might be to sleep wrapped together like this. "Uhm, Trowa?" 

Closed eyes, snuggling against chest. "Hm?" 

Quatre smiled, sighed contently, and placed his arms around Trowa. "Never mind..." 

Trowa ground his head against the pink-draped chest a few more times. "You know..." he whispered within a smirk, "Cathy is right... You _do_ make a good pillow... and you've got such a nice pink pillow-case, too." 

Quatre chuckled a little, grinned and hugged Trowa a bit tighter. He waited for a few minutes, overheard the angel and imp congratulating each other on a job well done, and turned off the remaining light, sending them both off to sleep - eventually. Trowa fell asleep rather quickly, but it took nearly an hour for Quatre to calm down enough to finally fall into slumber, exceedingly happy. 

* * *

-end Nudge-   
-TBC- 

  
  
  
  
  



	6. Engagements

  
**Escaping Solitude**   
#5 - Engagements

AN: For all relevant information about this fanfic, read the first bit of the prologue. 

* * *

The growing light from the many tiny artificial suns in the colony's inner hub wall high above forced its way through drawn curtains, and turned the darkness of the trailer into a dim shade. Two boys were still sound asleep in the bed at the end of the trailer, huddled close together, the sheets rumpled around them, tugged just high enough up by the restlessness of sleep to leave their feet unprotected - not that it mattered; the trailer was comfortably warm. 

On a red lampshade above the sleeping boys' heads, two tiny creatures rested, their feet dangling over the edge of the lampshade. Each had an arm draped across the other's shoulders, each stared down at the result of their efforts. 

"I think we did well." 

The angel nodded. "I agree." 

Grin. "Thanks for playing along with my perfect plan, buddy." 

Mild frown. "I didn't 'play along' with your ideas. I just helped him after the guidelines given to me by my superiors." 

"Oh, _sure_ you did - I noticed you took a really good peek at Trowa's-" 

The angel pinched the shoulder he was holding. "Don't say it." 

Chuckle. "Oh, it's not like your brain can't handle some lusty thoughts once in a while." 

Grunt, faint blush. "I'm not supposed to have any. Thoughts of respect, maybe love, but not... that." 

The imp grinned even wider, leant in to whisper in the angel's ear. "But you did, didn't you?" 

The angel's cheeks flushed further, and after some hesitation, he nodded. 

The imp gave him a quick hug. "I knew it - there's hope for you yet, flyboy. Just a little while longer, and I'll make you as gutter-brained as yours truly." 

Dismissive grunt, averting eyes. "It's a miracle those crazy plans of yours worked out. They usually cause only chaos." 

Laughter. "Well, yeah - that's my specialty, right? Anyway, miracles are your department - and we're both here to make things balanced, aren't we?" 

"Maybe..." 

"Well, in that case, I say everything turned out _just_ fine, and that we should share the glory - though, I'm perfectly ready to take it all for myself, if you stick to not having had anything to do with creating the display down there." 

The angel turned his head to glare at the imp, intense blue mellowed away by defensive grin. He sighed. "At least you're showing signs of improvement. Promoting happiness and love isn't exactly your forte. Maybe I'll be the one to change _you_ - straighten you out a little." 

Laughter. "Oh, thanks for the credit, wings - but I think I'll remain as hell-bent as ever. Straight and narrow just isn't fun; the opposite can be _so_ much more entertaining." 

The angel smirked, stretched out his right wing to follow his arm, pulling the imp a little closer, shielding him with the wing. "You're a bad influence on me, you little imp." 

Grin. "And you're a good influence on me, flyboy - I guess that's what we get for promoting balance, right?" Passing chuckle, serious face. "Oh, and don't ever call me little again, or I'll clip your wings, literally. I'm slow to anger, but my scythe is sharp." 

Faint grunt. 

The imp looked down at the two sleeping peacefully below, thoroughly intertwined. "You know, I think we'll be out of work now." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, I mean - look at them. You think Quatre would listen to what _we_ say now? I think he'll use Trowa as his guide of conscience - or anything else, for that matter." 

"Hn. Maybe so." 

Mischievous grin. "Think we should go and stoke the fires down below a little bit? Those two are ripe for it, don't you think?" 

Cool glare. "That is definitely _not_ my department - and I wouldn't want you to do it, either. Let things work their natural way." 

Shrug. "Whatever, just a thought - but we're part of that natural way, aren't we?" 

The angel folded his wing just a little closer around the imp, produced a faint smirk and a sigh. "I guess..." 

Feeling a bit uneasy with the divine embrace, the imp decided to stir things up again - as was his nature. He weaseled his tail free, and sent the triangular spike at the very end of it to deliver a soft stab to the angel's bum, causing a yelp of surprise. The embracing arm and wing vanished, and the cherub grabbed the offending tail, holding it up while giving the snickering imp another frosty glare. 

"If I want you to poke my rear, I'll let you know." 

The imp's jaw drooped momentarily at the answer, before he broke into a healthy belly-laugh. 

Angelic frown. "What's so funny?" 

The imp laughed even harder at that. 

Thinking it over, the angel finally figured out why, and the blush returned. 

Done laughing, the imp hugged the angel. "Well, wings - I kinda get the feeling you won't ever ask about that - though I'd be happy to comply..." 

Coloring slowly fading, grunt. 

"I still think it's funny you made a slip like that - it's really not like you." 

Mild snort, arm and wing returning to embrace the imp. "Like I said, you're a bad influence on me." 

The imp rested his chin on the other's shoulder. "You wouldn't want me any other way." 

Smirk. "But you think I want you?" 

Grin. "Oh, my - I see my influence on you is stronger than I thought..." 

Yet another grunt, though subdued. 

The imp looked down on the two boys below again, let his left toes play footsie with his conscience-counterpart. Quatre's eyelids were fluttering. "Looks like they're about to wake up. We should probably go." 

Nod. 

The sheepish grin flashed once more. "I'd really want to stay up here where the view's good, though - I've got a good feeling about this. Can't you just feel the lust in this room?" 

Soft snort. "I think the expression says 'love', not lust." 

Snicker. "Not in my book, it doesn't." 

"I haven't read your book." 

Chuckle. "Well, it's basically the same as yours - with a few revisions at the end." 

Grunt, smirk. 

Below them, Quatre yawned, eyes still closed. 

The imp sighed. "Guess it's back to work now - until Trowa replaces us, that is." 

"Why are you so certain that he will?" 

Genuine smile. "For someone who is supposed to be a promoter of eternal love, you sure are pessimistic about it sometimes." 

Once more, the angel gave a grunt. "I don't like unpredictability." 

Soft snicker. "Well, sometimes, the unpredictable can be good." 

"Good in your eyes, or good in mine?" 

The imp shrugged, and gave the angel a quick peck of a kiss on the cheek. "I was hoping both." 

The angel just stared at him, jaw loose. "I - I..." 

Quatre stirred again, drawing the attention of them both. 

"We have to get back," the angel stated, before shooting the imp a serious look - though with mellowed blue eyes. "We'll discuss this later." 

The imp grinned, grabbed a tighter hold around the angel's neck, snaked the tail around the cherub's waist for good measure. The angel returned the embrace, unfolded his wings, and sent them off the lampshade, down towards their standard places at Quatre's shoulders, their impact nudging Quatre that final stretch out of the boundaries of sleep, eyes suddenly opening, and lungs taking a brief gasp for air. 

The first sensation Quatre had upon waking up, was how heavy his chest felt, coupled with something tickling his nose to make breathing even harder. It took him a few seconds to remember why there was a head of hair against his nose and cheek, why his chest and stomach were weighed down, and why his right arm felt completely numb, trapped underneath the still sleeping Trowa half-way draped across him. Quatre smiled, suppressed a yawn and did his best not to move. The position was uncomfortable, but at the same time very satisfying. With his free hand, he gently trailed the outline of Trowa's jaw, lifting the limp wayward bang out of the way. Maybe he'd finally get to discover how Trowa managed to shape his unique hairstyle this morning. He'd asked about it long ago, but Trowa had been as enigmatic about that as with everything else. 

Bits and pieces of his dreams came back to him - blurred images, sentence fragments, feelings - all centered around a miniature devil and angel, the same two creatures he occasionally felt guided him - all a product of his overactive imagination, of course. He smiled. Maybe he should remember this dream, and the daydream thoughts of them as well. If nothing else, it'd make a strange story to tell Heero and Duo. Heero probably wouldn't care, and Duo might laugh if off, but it didn't matter. Thinking it over, it was much too clear who had stood role model for the characters visiting his dreams. 

Trowa stirred, made a faint moan and rubbed his head against Quatre's neck and collar bone again. Startled, Quatre removed his hand the instant Trowa moved, and he waited for Trowa to settle again before softly caressing the sleeping boy's cheek, smile across the faces of them both, though Quatre's was a notch greater. Dimly, he regained some sensations from the fingers of the arm wrapped around Trowa, and it took but a slight movement of them to realize he'd slipped his hand in under Trowa's green T-shirt at some point during the night, fingertips grazing the sleeper's bare side. The soft, tickling touch was enough to cause a subdued giggle from Trowa, but didn't quite wake him up. 

Quatre looked around the room, tried to assess the time. The shades were drawn before the windows, but some light shone through. It still looked like early morning light levels outside. His eyes searched for a clock to confirm that suspicion, but couldn't find any, given that he didn't want to move too much; didn't want to wake Trowa up. 

He did anyway, though unintentionally. His increased breathing frequency and rate of heart beats was enough to stir the sleeper, though it took Trowa some time to awaken enough to realize his pillow was a lot warmer than usual. At first, the thin slits his eyes formed could barely make out something pink. He turned his head upwards after a short while, and slid up a little bit to share Quatre's pillow instead. Quatre brushed away the strands draped across Trowa's forehead, placing a soft tap of lips there. "Good morning," he whispered. 

"Hmm... 'morning," Trowa muttered back, eyes still in the process of adjusting to dim daylight. 

Quatre chuckled, touched Trowa's jaw line again, tilting his chin up a little before leaning in for a brief kiss. 

Smile, minute yawn. "What time is it?" 

"I don't know... Still early, I think." 

Trowa sighed, pushed up from his comfortable position and leant over Quatre's torso in search of the alarm clock parked on a little collapsible shelf on that side of the trailer. Quatre used the opportunity to get his right arm free, and he rubbed it to get circulation back to normal. Trowa studied the dials, groaned, and put the clock back with quite a bit of force. "It's barely past six..." 

Trowa leant back and pulled the white sheet back up over them, Quatre placed his right arm along his side to avoid getting it trapped underneath Trowa again. However, as Trowa sprawled half-way across him just like the night before, snuggling up against his chest, it was rendered immobile yet again - though without the same pressure across. Teasing fingers snuck in under the pink T-shirt, tickling Quatre's belly with their gentle motions. The wayward brown strands again brushed against Quatre's chin, lips and nose, and he felt Trowa's leg rub against his groin, alerting him of a growing situation he had neglected to notice earlier. 

Trowa's dancing fingers grew more daring, trekked north to toy with a nipple, while he planted light kisses along the base of Quatre's neck. The blond arched his neck in invitation, though he felt a bit embarrassed by the situation growing down south, constantly further provoked by Trowa's leg. "T - Trowa," he mumbled, "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but-" he gasped as the fingers pinched his nipple, combined with another kneading of his groin. "Please stop that..." 

Trowa immediately froze, tilted his head to give Quatre a puzzled and vaguely concerned look. "Why? Didn't you like it?" 

Quatre smiled, kissed Trowa's forehead again. "No... No, I enjoyed it very much..." 

"Then why-" 

Smile growing shaky, cheeks pink. "Because if you keep going, I think I'll soil my underwear." 

Trowa chuckled. "Oh..." With a suggestive wiggle of eyebrows and a twinkle in his eyes, he asked "Then lose them?" 

Quatre's blush deepened, and he grew uncertain at the proposition, despite how now highly alert unlikely couple of angel and imp screamed in his ears to go for it. "You said no funny business." 

Smirk. "Yeah, but that was for tonight. It's morning now..." 

Vaguely trembling voice. "Trowa, if you're suggesting what I think you are-" 

Raised brows, amused grin. "What if I am?" To further his point, Trowa pressed the bulge that had formed in his boxers against Quatre's trapped hand. 

Faint, surprised gasp. "I - Trowa, we've only - I mean - Just yesterday-" He shook his head. "What's gotten into you?" 

Trowa chuckled at Quatre's word fumbles, pacified him with a short, soft kiss. "I was hoping..." Another kiss. "You." 

Quatre didn't reply at first, his wide open eyes and gaping mouth said pretty much all he was thinking - which was next to nothing. 

Warm smile. "There are things I've wanted to do to you, with you, for a long time, Quatre. Those thoughts didn't start yesterday - I just didn't think they could be more than that - fantasies. But now..." Brief pause. "Well, now that I - _we_ - might do something about those..." 

Slow, understanding nod. 

Trowa pulled a little away. "I don't want to push you into anything, though... If you don't feel the same way just yet, we could-" 

"No!" Quatre interrupted, before letting the blush cover him again. "I - I mean, I want to, but... I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to either. I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you, or..." His voice faded as he saw one of Trowa's brows move, just barely. Maybe it was best not to dwell on the past. Instead, he summoned up the courage to ask another question. "Uhm... What is it you wanted to do, exactly?" 

Trowa's turn to gain some color, though with a slight grin. "Well, I... I haven't thought that much about it." 

Nervous chuckle. "Liar." 

Faint smile. "Yeah..." 

"Trowa, I've never-" 

"That's okay - me neither," Trowa interrupted. "...so we don't have to impress each other, right?" 

Quatre nodded in agreement, and gave Trowa a chaste kiss, free hand idly trailing up and down Trowa's left biceps. He felt Trowa's leg shift in response, and shuddered as it rubbed against his groin again. "Wait... What about con-" 

Trowa silenced him with a return kiss, and grinned. "Have any secret illness? Or have you been cheating on me already?" 

Quatre giggled, shook his head. 

"Me neither. Mutual trust, Quatre. Good enough?" 

Momentarily hesitating, Quatre nodded, smile growing. 

* * *

AN: Now, given that the next section contained fairly graphic 'naughty bits', it was not posted here on ff.net, in accordance with local rules. However, linking to 'naughty bits' is allowed, AFAICT from the ToS. While the story should be archived in full in a few other places, the little scissored bit alone should be found here:   
  
http :// www . stormpages . com / kebzero / nixedbits / escsol . html   
(spaces added to avoid ff.net's auto-pruning)   
  
If you'd rather let some privates remain private, read right along. ;-) 

* * *

Quatre rolled over on his back, giving them both some space to breathe. Lavishing in afterglow, anything more than breathing felt too strenuous. He tilted his head to look at Trowa, studied Trowa's glazed eyes staring at the ceiling, his parted, softly smiling lips, heaving chest... His eyes might have trekked further down, if he hadn't felt Trowa reach for his hand, interlacing their fingers. Quatre looked up, his eyes met by Trowa's twin emeralds beaming back at him. 

Trowa momentarily tilted closer, just to pull aside the pillow he'd used to elevate the small of his back. As he rolled back, he made the slightest of winces. Quatre noticed, but chose not to comment beyond his ever-present warm smile before looking up at the ceiling. His mind started to drift, and as coincidences would have it, he remembered the voices that had guided him this far; the ones he'd embodied into avatars of his friends. He closed his eyes, tried to conjure up an image of them, visualize them - but they were nowhere to be found on his shoulders, or anywhere else where his mind's eye looked. Instead, he saw two discarded robes; one black, one white. Beside the clothing, there lay a black baseball cap, a scythe with a golden halo wrapped around the sharp, curved blade, and from somewhere in the distance, somewhere behind his neck, where he could not possibly see, Quatre thought he heard muffled grunts of some sort, faint whimpers, but clearly not of pain. In reality, he shook his head, tried not to think further down that trail. Yes, it would definitely be an interesting story to tell - but this last flash might be best to neglect, should he tell it to anyone else, especially Heero or Duo. He did not want them to think him a total pervert, after all. 

He grinned into a sigh. Still, maybe his subconscious was trying to tell him something, inform him that his uncanny sense of empathy had picked up on vibes that had never reached his consciousness? Momentarily, Quatre closed his eyes, a singular chuckle escaping. Maybe he should investigate that closer sometime... He tilted his head again just to meet Trowa's mellow eyes and soft smile again. He smirked a little - maybe he would have an accomplice in this endeavor, too. 

Quatre rolled over on his side, one set of fingers still interwoven with Trowa's. With a deliberately slow motion, he let his left hand digits barely touch Trowa's side, sliding across slick skin down to the hip, then back up, across a firm stomach, ending up drawing lazy circles around a nipple. "You know, despite my little clean-up earlier, we'll still have to change sheets..." 

"Yeah...?" 

Grin. "Remember what happened to your laundry?" 

Trowa closed his eyes for a moment, groaned. "So, I have to sleep in all-pink sheets and pillowcases until I get around to buying a new set?" 

Snicker. "Well, it _was_ my fault... I can trade you for my spare set." 

Chuckle. "Thanks." Trowa loosened his hold on Quatre's fingers, and placed both hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. "I was kind of hoping you wouldn't need your spare set anymore..." 

Quatre smiled, immediately crept closer, draped his left arm across Trowa's chest, and rested his head in the nook shaped by Trowa's shoulder and bent arm. Quatre trailed his fingers across Trowa's forehead, brushing the unusually limp bang aside. He chuckled, let fingertips pass down Trowa's temple and cheek. "You know, you _have_ to tell me what you do to make your hair point out sometime. It's driving me nuts, trying to figure it out." 

Grin. "Couldn't do that. It's a family secret." 

"Oh? So, if I asked Catherine, she'd know?" 

Serene smile. "Not unless she's been spying on me." Trowa tilted his head to lock on Quatre's eyes. "Maybe I will tell you sometime, Quatre - but not today." 

Faint snort. "Maybe I'll find a way to _make_ you tell me." With that, he assaulted Trowa's bare stomach with his fingers, tickling at will. Trowa laughed, made a mock struggle trying to stop it, before latching on to Quatre's neck instead, pulling the blond close for another kiss. 

"Like I said, maybe someday." 

Quatre accepted that. There was a point to keeping some mysteries for later, some secrets and new things to discover as they went along. He locked with the emerald eyes again, only the need to blink interrupting. "You know..." he whispered, "Whenever I think of you, I think of a certain animal too..." 

Trowa rolled his eyes. "Let me guess - a unicorn, because of my hair?" 

Chuckle. "Well, you're right about the animal, and that _is_ one reason - but that's not the only reason why I think of you as a unicorn..." 

"Oh? Then why?" 

Warm smile. "Because you behave like one... Unicorns are elusive beings..." He kissed Trowa's forehead. "They can turn themselves invisible, if they want to..." Lips touched brow. "They're able to mesmerize and blind their hapless victims..." Grazed closed eyelid. "They're absolutely beautiful..." Tip of nose. "And they exist almost exclusively in dreams and fairy tales..." Quatre pressed his lips against Trowa's, initial softness giving way to passion. He was a bit surprised when Trowa gently pushed him back, even more so to see a rather monotonous face looking back at him, immediately worrying. "Did I do something wrong?" 

Trowa blinked. "No... No, just don't - please don't call me that, at least not in public." 

"A unicorn?" 

"No. Beautiful." 

Quatre shrugged. "Nothing wrong with saying the truth, Trowa." 

Faint blush, wary curl of lips. "Look... I might have let you... take charge this time, but I'm still a guy. Next thing, you'll be calling me 'cute' too." 

Snicker. "Well, if the shoe fits..." 

Mild glare. 

Brief chuckle. "Male pride clouding your ability to accept compliments?" 

Sigh, faint smile. "_You_ might not have a problem being called that in public, but it makes me uneasy." 

Return sunbeam. "You're right, I wouldn't have a problem - as long as you were the one saying it, of course.... Think you could handle being called 'handsome' in public?" 

"I think I could live with that..." 

Playful grin. "What about 'gorgeous', or 'hot-stuff', or... 'soul mate'?" 

Smile, soft blush. "Lets... take one word at a time, Quatre." 

Chuckle. 

Three rapid knocks at the door. Two surprised boys in mild panic. One firm voice from an older sister. "Trowa? Trowa, open up, would ya?" 

The two exchanged troubled looks, both suddenly looking out through the room, at the clothes scattered about, the crumpled bed sheets and disorganized pillows, the sticky towel discarded somewhere on the floor - not to mention, the fact they were both naked. They would need time to cover up; both themselves and their actions. 

"Don't say anything, don't even move," Trowa whispered. "If she thinks I'm not here, maybe she'll go away..." 

Quatre nodded. He wasn't too keen on being seen like this. 

The door handle rattled. "Trowa? Trowa, I know you're in there, unlock the door right now." 

Quatre was about to speak, Trowa immediately placed a finger across his lips, hushing him. He glared at the door. 

"Look, don't make me ask Quatre to open - I know he's in there too." 

Another exchange of worried glances. "How does she know that?" Quatre whispered. 

"If you don't open, I'll go over to wake the manager and get the master key. I swear, I'll do it, and I'm sure he'd be delighted to be awakened this early, just to see you two." 

Trowa growled, got up, and grabbed the pillow he'd used to support his back earlier, used it to cover his foremost assets, giving Quatre a good look of his rear as he walked over to the door. Quatre enjoyed the view so much he barely remembered to grab one of the sheets to cover himself up at least a little, draping the thin white fabric across his hips. Trowa unlocked and opened the door, sidestepped to let his sister hurry inside, closed and locked it up again, and sat down on the little stool by the door, still clutching the pillow to cover himself at least a little. He glared daggers at Catherine, who smirked back. 

She turned to Quatre. "Hi, Quatre. Nice abs." 

Quatre felt his cheeks grow just a tad warmer, embarrassed. "Hi, Catherine... Uh, thanks." 

She looked back and forth between the two of them. "Well, I see you two have been busy..." 

Trowa could barely temper the annoyance in his voice. "What do you want, Cathy?" 

Grin. "Oh, did I interrupt something? Please, don't let me stop you from getting back to... whatever it was you were doing." 

Growl. "Cathy..." 

Ever the diplomat, Quatre intervened. "Catherine, how did you know I was here?" 

She rolled her eyes, walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. "Didn't take a genius to figure out. That's why I'm here anyway. Joseph woke me up." 

"Joseph?" 

Nod. "He was really grumpy, too. Your alarm clock went off as usual, but it wasn't turned off." 

Quatre paled a bit. 

"Anyway, he eventually got fed up with it, thinking you were just getting back at him for his singing, I guess. I shared a trailer with him once, I know his habits. He went through the bathroom doors, which were unlocked, and couldn't find you anywhere. I always hated those doors... Well, he told me he didn't think you'd been there at all tonight, since the bed wasn't made, and there weren't any dishes from supper or breakfast. Joseph came over to my place, and asked if you had left, or something. He was worried you'd gone missing. I told him I'd look into it." 

Sheepish grin. "Well, you found me..." 

"And it looks like you found what you were searching for too, huh?" Quatre's grin grew. She leaned in to whisper in his ear. "So, how was he?" 

Grumpy voice from the other end of the trailer. "I can still hear you, you know..." 

Catherine sat up straight again, folded her arms and crossed her legs. "Afraid he'd give you bad marks, Trowa?" 

The deep frown got a touch of crimson cover. 

"Well, at least tell me how good a pillow Quatre made." 

"H-How did you know-" 

She snickered, placed her arms back for support and adopted the greatest smirk Quatre had ever seen. That couldn't be good. "Well... See, when I came here searching for you, Quatre, I saw the trailer was shaking just a little. The supports of these wagons can only do so much, and when you lean up against a trailer wall, you can hear a lot through them - they're not at all that thick." 

Quatre's jaw drooped. "Y-You mean you-" 

Laughter. "Yeah, I... _overheard_ the two of you." Quatre's blush deepened. Trowa shot his sister an even nastier glare. Catherine just grinned madly. "Hey, at least I was kind enough to wait until you were done before knocking, okay?" 

Quatre wasn't quite sure just how red his face had gotten, but his cheeks definitely felt on fire. He almost wanted to hide underneath the blanket, when another thought hit him. "Did anyone else see-" 

Smile. "No, I don't think so. We don't have that many true early birds, so I think I was the only one to see you two make the earth move. Well, this trailer, anyway." 

"What about Joseph?" 

"What about him? I think he went back to his trailer when I told him I'd find you." 

"Oh... Wait, how did you know I was here? You didn't answer-" 

Grin. "Last night, I came over to check if Trowa had noticed I had returned his laundry - including the bits of his you discolored. I saw you outside, tapping the door, so I decided to wait. Snuck up to the trailer and listened for a while." 

Again, Quatre's mouth was agape, not all that happy Catherine had overheard that conversation _too_, on top of- No, he really didn't want to think about that. 

She gave him a quick hug, ignoring the warning growl from the direction of the door. "Hey, I told you everything would work out, didn't I? You worry too much, Quatre." 

He rubbed his right biceps with his left hand. "Wait, what about Sylphie? If Joseph's awake, then she must be too, and she's able to detect nearly everything that goes on around here. Can you _imagine_ what she'd put out of rumors if she-" Quatre just imagined. He shook his head. "We're so totally screwed." 

Wicked grin. "Well, brother dearest certainly is..." 

"Cathy!" 

Snicker. "Oh, touchy now..." She turned back to Quatre. "Anyway, Sylphie is probably still fast asleep. Her duels with Joseph always tires her out - I think she won last night, though." 

Surprise, arms in covered lap. "Duels?" 

"Yeah, didn't you know? Joseph and Sylphie has a really odd affinity for that Twister game - you know, the one where you have to place your hands and feet on a blanket with color blotches? 'Right foot blue', and all that?" 

"Yeah, I know the game." Quatre shook his head, chuckled. "So, _that_ was what they were doing last night..." 

Catherine shrugged. "I guess - Joseph showed me what they were fighting over yesterday - he'd bought a bottle of wine, since he lost last time. Loser always buys the prize for their next match." 

Smile. "I wish I'd known, instead of thinking they were... well..." He scratched the back of his neck, bothered by his preconceptions. 

Light chuckle. "The two of them _have_ grown rather close lately, so I can understand you jumping to that conclusion, Quatre." Teasing wink. "Think the others will do the same about you two?" 

Truth be told, Quatre would rather _not_ think about that - even if the conclusions would be somewhat correct. "You said nobody else were outside. If you don't tell, nobody would know." He saw Catherine's triumphant smirk. So, that was what she wanted to present; a bargaining chip. Quatre growled. "What do you want to keep shut about this, at least until we're ready?" 

"Oh, I'm _hurt_, Quatre. You think I'd exploit this joyous situation like that?" 

In perfect unison, Quatre and Trowa firmly stated "Yes!" 

She laughed. "Yeah, you're right, of course... My demand is simply this; that you don't go all lovey-dovey and forget your duties. You're still employees of this circus." 

"Working hours doesn't start for-" 

"Yeah, Trowa. You still have some time left. I'll go tell the manager the two of you will probably be a bit late today." She momentarily leant over to Quatre, took a deep, demonstrative sniff of air right by his neck. "I guess the two of you want to freshen up a bit first, take a shower or something." She grinned. "By the way, Quatre - mini-Sandrock is showing..." 

Panicked, Quatre looked down to see the sheet had slid down just a bit too much. He hastily pulled it back up and placed his arms protectively across, cheeks warming up again. Catherine's snickers didn't help one bit. 

"Oh, and by freshening up, I don't mean you two continuing your little session under running water, okay?" 

A deep sigh came from over by the door. "Cathy, thanks... but could you please leave now?" 

Chuckle. "Impatient, brother dear?" She stood up, walked towards the door. "Don't worry, I'll leave and let you get back to your fun. I expect to see you both at work by lunch, though." Catherine unlocked the door, put her hand on the handle and shot a glance at Quatre over her shoulder. "Oh, and don't abuse his butt too much, Quatre - he still has to lean back against the dagger board tonight, and I couldn't very well have him squirming because-" She ducked to avoid the pillow Trowa threw at her, opened the door to protect herself from the next swing, laughing. Through it all, she snuck a peek. "My, looks like mini-Sandrock is a wrong nickname after all, compared to-" 

"Get out!" 

With a snicker, Catherine closed the door behind her. Trowa growled again, locked the door, tossed the pillow aside, and walked back to the bed. Quatre flicked the sheet aside, let Trowa get in and covered them both up as he snuggled up against his lover. "Don't you worry," he said with a teasing, faintly patronizing voice. "You're more than big enough for me. You're quite a mouthful." 

Trowa shook his head, gave Quatre a gentle slap on the cheek, but smiled back at the chuckling blond nevertheless. "Please don't become a copy of my sister. She's _not_ a good role model." 

"Oh, I think she's good enough - but I think you'll be more likely to change who I am, Trowa." 

That earned him a soft kiss. "Thanks, Quatre. I just might take advantage of that offer - not that I can think of anything I want to change, though." 

Giggle. "Well, just wait until you know me better. I'm sure we'll find enough habits in each other to get annoyed about." 

"M-hm..." 

Silence, eyes locked, gentle smiles. 

"Trowa?" 

"Yes?" 

"Now that we're together - we are, right?" 

Trowa hugged him close. "Together? You bet. I won't let you go now, Quatre." 

Sigh. "Well, that's just it, Trowa." 

Embrace released. "Huh?" 

Quatre momentarily avoided Trowa's worried eyes. "I can't stay here forever, Trowa. I have to get back to the company eventually. I'm not sure how long I can shove my responsibilities to the corporation over on my sisters, and-" 

"Oh... I understand, Quatre." 

"Couldn't you come with me?" 

Warm smile. "I'm as tied with this circus as you are with your company, Quatre - and I don't really want to become dependent on you." He paused, thought the words over for a bit, before kissing Quatre's cheek. "Not financially, at least." 

"I'd really miss you, Trowa - I can stay here for a while, but eventually..." 

Sigh in smile. "I know... Well, I have a bunch of vacation days I haven't taken advantage of, and there's a seasonal break coming up soon..." 

Sunbeam. "You'd come back with me?" 

Nod. "At least for a while. I'm not ready to abandon my ties with the circus just yet, Quatre - I love you, but some things are hard to deal with, hard to give up." 

Quatre pulled him closer for a firm, passionate kiss, hugging him tight afterwards. "I love you too, Trowa. Thank you." 

Slight pause, smile. "We'll work something out, don't worry." 

Quatre quietly agreed - though from some distant corner of his mind, two faint voices promoted an interesting thought - which was quickly made into a question. "Trowa? Are you going to take Catherine up on her offer - about the name, I mean?" 

"Hm? Oh, that... I don't know. Maybe." 

"Trowa Bloom... Yes, you're definitely a rose in full bloom." 

Trowa rolled his eyes. "Great, compare me to a fragile flower with all the thorns out, why don't you?" 

Chuckle. "I am." Quatre brushed his fingertips along Trowa's temple, before continuing along the rim of his ear. "Well, if you don't like that name, and if you want... I'd gladly share mine with you..." 

Mild surprise, smile. "Really?" 

Nod, reflecting sunbeam. "Of course." Fingers along cheek. "I think I'd share everything I have with you, Trowa." 

A snort of a laugh. "I don't know about that... I'm sure you have some secrets you'd want to keep from me for a while longer." 

"Maybe..." 

Trowa smiled. "I feel like a Winner already..." 

Chuckle, kiss. "Me too, love. Me too." 

* * *

-end Engagements-   
-End Escaping Solitude- 

AN: Okay, so that's that for this one - for now. Now, further reviews obviously can't affect this story - previous ones _have_, believe me. Still, any feedback you can offer is appreciated - and is quite likely to affect any future stories I scribble down. 

Regardless; thanks to all those who've read this story, and doubly thanks to those who've provided feedback. :-) 

  
  
  
  
  



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